


Somewhere only we know

by sherlockguineapig



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Cooking, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Meddling Friends, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, Soppy happy end, an ode to cats, and apples, bad timing, grumpy cat warning, just a gentle piece of fluff, no movie-style scenes in this one, pet death, slow burn of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockguineapig/pseuds/sherlockguineapig
Summary: A week ago, Jimmy and Alastair decided to end things after ten years.But is it really the end of everything? Or ... could there actually be more to their relationship?A journey that begins two days after the Who Writes Your Scripts Test in September 2018.Enjoy. :)
Relationships: Jimmy Anderson/Alastair Cook
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16





	1. September

A week.

A week since That conversation.

Two days since a farewell so fitting, so hair-raisingly beautiful that it almost seemed pre-planned. Because it couldn’t have gone any better (okay, only if he had taken the catch for the… stop it, James).

And almost exactly 24 hours since a text from Greg. That told him, in no uncertain terms that **wicket record or no wicket record, you’re not gonna spend today moping around on your own. go get something to eat, we’ve got an episode to record. see you at 11:30 at the mason’s arms.**

At first, Jimmy wanted to pick up the phone and ring his friend. To let him know exactly what he thought of these kinds of texts, especially at such an ungodly hour (and Greg’s schedule might have changed now that he presents one of the most popular radio shows in the country, but still, as a part-time amateur and massive cricket badger, Jimmy would have expected him to at least have an inkling of an understanding how exhausted he was. Fast bowling _is_ hard work. Which nobody of his so-called friends really seem to get, except for Broady of course.).

But in the end, his common sense won out. He quickly threw on the cleanest t-shirt he could find, the jeans he had just, casually, flung on to the floor of his hotel room late at night (which had him puzzled for about two minutes – just at what time did he get back into his room? Oh well, something Stuart could help him with later in the day) and slipped his sandals back on. Had an unenthusiastic two slices of buttered toast with bacon, three glasses of fresh orange juice (“nothing better to pick you up after a night out” – something else that confused Jimmy, because since when did his conscience sound like _him?_), checked out of the hotel, carried his suitcases to his car, checked his watch and was the first to arrive at the pub that would double as their studio that morning.

And it had, to Jimmy’s surprise, been quite a lot of fun. Even though it took them a good fifteen minutes to set everything up, followed by several re-takes because Matt, bless him, made everyone laugh a bit too hard with his eager and still mildly confused questions for Jimmy. And even though Greg kept shooting Jimmy strange looks whenever someone mentioned _his _name, whenever Greg and Felix kept coming back to those scenes on Monday afternoon.

When the entire Oval, as one, had gotten to their feet and applauded a centurion.

When, for once, nobody was sitting in the changing room, everyone crowding on the balcony, willing the ball on … and then jumping up as they saw it speed to the boundary.

And saw their captain celebrate, take off his helmet, drop his bat and his gloves. And fiercely hug his batting partner in the middle of the wicket.

Jimmy didn’t need to guess what Joe was going through at that moment.

Because his own eyes were full of tears.

Something he kept to himself for the rest of the day. Hid it, as expertly as he did on that terrible afternoon at Trent Bridge two weeks ago. Hid it, behind concern for Joe, who seemed quite close to breaking down when … _it _happened. When _he _got out for one final time.

And e_verything, _really everything, was over.

A dull headache crept up on Jimmy during the last overs on Monday. Wouldn’t go away during dinner, wouldn’t leave him however many glasses of water he drank and how long he spent on the massage therapist’s table before the last day’s play, convinced he might have pulled a muscle in his neck.

Of course, as soon as he saw the stumps flying for one last time, as soon as he, without knowing how or why, almost ran head first into _his_ arms, as the celebrations began, Jimmy forgot about his headache for a while. Concentrated on remembering where they had left _his_ farewell present, made himself focus on their win, on breaking the record he had been coveting for almost a year. Told himself that there was nothing to be sad about, that they’d had a brilliant summer and that, if anyone, his captain and friend deserved his support (Jimmy doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Joe this disconsolate).

There was nothing between them, after all. Nothing but 12 years of close friendship, started somewhere on a plane on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon in March. Forged among the ups and downs of the late 2000s, solidified on an exhausting and frankly bonkers weekend in a frozen German forest.

Through everything that happened over the last decade, _he _was there. At Jimmy’s side. Listening, cheering him up, spending hours on golf courses, telling him to “bowl a little bit fuller, maybe?” with that cheeky smile of his – and then blushing fiercely when Jimmy had told him where he could shove that sort of useless advice. Spending countless evenings with each other, sharing room service, very often just not doing anything.

Except … on those nights they actually _did something._

_Anyway, that’s over now. And rightly so._

Jimmy peels his eyes open. Rolls on to his right side, yawns and climbs out of bed. Yanks the curtains back a little too forcefully. Sighs as he is met with another miserable grey morning. _I wish it would at least rain. That sort of nonsense isn’t doing me any good._

Someone laughs and Jimmy whirls around.

The bedroom remains empty.

_I’m losing it. _Jimmy sighs at himself while shivers run down his spine. _Barely two days since I last saw him and I’m starting to hallucinate._

_But he does have the most beautiful laugh I know._

_We’ve talked about this, James._

Jimmy sighs loudly. Stretches.

Watches a bird – was that a blackbird? _He _would have known, of course _he _would have, farm boy – land on a branch of the apple tree opposite his bedroom window. Takes a closer look, and (to his own surprise) feels a small smile sneak on his face as he sees several very vividly red fruits hanging on the tree. _Thanks for the tip, Jos. Might actually get some proper apples this year._

_And now I’ve got something to do this morning._

Surprisingly not-as-grumpy-as-before, Jimmy wanders over to his wardrobe. Has a closer look, decides it is high time he needs to go shopping again – most of the long-sleeved shirts he owns are horribly dated and don’t fit him any more since he changed his training programme in February. Picks a T-shirt instead, throws on a cardigan and a pair of black trousers and gives himself a once-over in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door.

A shiver runs down his spine. Again.

_I remember. Is it really three years since I last wore this cardigan? Since …...? _

_I wonder if he’d still recognise it. If he saw me wearing it._

“Stop it.” Jimmy tells his reflection. Shoots himself an annoyed look (one that would make Stuart give him one of these anxious laughs and then, immediately apologise – no matter if he actually did something). “No seriously, stop it, you’re being a soppy idiot. It was _nothing, get it?_ We’re mates, just mates, we’ve been for 12 years and he’s gonna be a part of my life for … however long he wants to. And this thing, this … whatever, we talked about this a week ago, fuck’s sake. It had its time and its place and it’s good that it’s over. We’re both adults, we need to move on.”

Jimmy angrily clenches his left hand into a fist until his knuckles turn white. “I won’t see _him_ until Christmas now anyway. That should give me enough time to get over it. And there ISN’T ANYTHING TO GET OVER, you idiot.” he tells his reflection quite forcefully and leaves the bedroom.

Slams the door with a little more force than he wants to, hears his cat give a loud yelp of protest and dart down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen.

“Sorry Alan.” Jimmy apologises while he follows the, by now, quite fierce meows on to his ground floor (if the lads found out he hadn’t actually named his cat after his great-granddad, but after one of the pilots from Thunderbirds, Jimmy would be mince-meat and he does have a reputation to uphold). “Didn’t want to scare you,” he says as he reaches the kitchen where Alan has already taken up residence on the counter, staring at him with his round orange eyes. “Told you you shouldn’t be sneaking up on me like that.”

Alan yowls. “Okay, okay, you silly bugger, calm down, I do need to get your food before you can have breakfast.” Jimmy says, laughing briefly. Scratches the old black cat behind his ears while he gets on his toes, opens one of the kitchen cabinets and reaches for a can of … whatever it is, the smell and that horrible sludging sound it makes when Jimmy pours it into Alan’s bowl has always put him off. Then again, Jimmy is not a cat.

And once again, Jimmy hears someone laugh.

Turns on his heels, half expecting to see _him_.

Of course, there’s nobody behind him. Nobody decided to jump into his car in the early hours of the morning (wouldn’t put it past him, though, _he_ is always up at the most ridiculous times), make the three hours’ drive and surprise him. This isn’t a bloody romantic comedy after all.

Alan bangs his head against Jimmy’s arm and meows.

“You’re right, mate.” Jimmy strokes his cat and opens the can of … stuff (it is supposed to be salmon, but you’d be hard pressed to recognise any kind of ingredient), pours it into Alan’s bowl. “Enjoy.”

Now for his own breakfast. Coffee, as usual, it may have said nine hours on his alarm when Jimmy set it before he went to bed, but he doesn’t feel as if he has slept more than five. And … that one slice left from Jos’ birthday cake on Friday. That Broady, being the useful best mate that he is, commandeered for both of them when the rest of their teammates were busy sledging each other over FIFA.

May not be the best sort of breakfast, but Jimmy is on holiday. Five weeks until the Sri Lanka series begins. Now is as good a time as any to indulge himself. Nobody’s watching.

(“Eating your feelings,” Greg would say and laugh. Greg remains, to this day, almost idiotically convinced that there is _something _between Jimmy and _him_. As does Swanny. But Swanny learned the hard way not to talk to Jimmy about this).

Jimmy helps himself to a plate and puts a capsule into the coffee maker. Switches the machine on, wants to press the button on the left until he remembers, with a start, that he nearly forgot to put a mug underneath.

Shaking his head, he gets back on his toes and looks for a clean mug in the cabinet above his head.

His heart skips a beat.

Why. Why today. Of all the many dishes he owns, gifted by well-meaning family members and brought back from countless tours (as much as he tries to deny it, Jimmy does like to keep little souvenirs). Why does _this particular cup_ have to be the only one not in the dishwasher or otherwise in use?

Ten years since they’d both spotted it at the same time, on one of these breathtakingly stunning summer afternoons in Wellington. Jimmy can still see the tiny antiquities shop they had found the cup in. Can still hear _him_ point the bright yellow china out to Jimmy, can still hear _his_ chuckle as he told Jimmy “that’s so you, you need to buy it.” Can still remember the play-fight that had sprung up from it … that then, a few hours later, the cup having been bought behind his back (and then left on his place in the hotel dining room with just a post-it saying “**rise and shine** :D”), turned into something entirely different.

The first night of many. _Many._

Jimmy feels tears sting at the corners of his eyes. Squeezes them shut, counts to ten. And then, decides, that his need for caffeine outweighs any residual sentimental soppiness he may have. After all, it is just a simple silly neon yellow cup. Nothing to get too worked up about. And he still does have cake.

Only that … something tastes off about that stolen slice of sponge. Maybe the nuts dotted all over the chocolate icing have gotten stale over the weekend. Or maybe his coffee has expired.

Jimmy finishes his breakfast without any enthusiasm. Flicks through the messages he received over night – by now, it looks like his entire family, his ex-girlfriend and half of his former school have seen the news and decided to congratulate him on his record.

Once again, a shiver runs down his spine as he remembers running in, letting go of the ball. He _knew. _A split-second before everyone else. Just as Broady always says he knows. And the moment he heard the stump fly, the moment he heard the cheers, the moment it hit him … nothing else mattered. All Jimmy wanted to do, all Jimmy saw … was … _him._

Jimmy blinks back tears. Slams the yellow cup down on the table, making Alan hiss again. “Sorry, mate.” he says, gets up and pushes the chair back with a sigh.

Alan meows, annoyed. “I’m gonna let you out into the garden. Looks like we’re about to have our first ever apples.” Jimmy tells him, bending down to pat Alan’s head.

After a stop at the coat rack in the front room, slipping his quite old fleece jacket over the cardigan (eight years, really? since that shopping afternoon with Swanny ahead of that legendary first test in Brisbane?), Jimmy puts his keys into his pocket and opens the door.

An unpleasantly fresh wind greets him. Alan hovers on the doorstep, uncertainly. Looks up at Jimmy and meows. “What’s it gonna be, mate?” Jimmy grumbles. “Make up your mind, I don’t want this cold to get into the house.”

Just in that moment, Alan sniffs the air, makes a belligerent yelp and runs off to the front gate. “Not that dog again?” Jimmy grumbles and locks the front door behind him. “Stop it, Alan, he’s already scared of you.”

Another mirthless laugh. Burying his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Jimmy sets off in the direction of the apple tree. Which, as he sees now, is actually teeming with bright red fruits.

“Brilliant.” he says quietly. Takes a photo with his phone and sends it to Jos.

**it worked! thanks mate. suggestions welcome. no idea what I’m gonna do with them.**

As usual, Jos doesn’t take long to reply. Jimmy’s phone buzzes while he is trying to dislodge a ladder and a red wicker basket from the mess that is his garden shed. _I haven’t tidied up here in years._

**got plenty of recipes. fantastic pancakes and more. I’ll send you a few. how are things?**

Jimmy stumbles for a second. Almost lets go of the ladder while he pushes the door to the shed open with one hand. _Jos, are you trying to tell me something?_ Over the last five years, there have been a number of occasions in which Jos has caught Jimmy off-guard. _He is extremely perceptive. And quite lovely about it. In his understated way, one of my best mates. Perhaps…_

_Stop it. There’s nothing to talk about, _Jimmy thinks and closes the door. Carries the ladder over to the tree and replies: **cheers. quite okay, still catching up on sleep. and that pe…, I mean, your lad?**

**shot and drained. and obviously sad. I’m not letting him out of my sight.**

Jimmy smiles sympathetically. They all knew for years that the moment _he _retired would hit Joe the hardest of them all. They, as Finny once put it in an interview, have their own special bond. Strengthened even more since Joe took over as captain. Joe was increasingly finding his feet over the summer, but until two days ago, he still had … for want of a better word, a safety net. And now?

Time to fly, Jimmy thinks. And wonders where that metaphor just came from. Was it …?

Of bloody course it was. _He_ said so himself, ten days ago, after that emotional afternoon in Southampton. Jimmy still remembers the way _he _smiled when he said that. Full of pride. And … something entirely different. It had caught Jimmy off guard back then and it still confuses him now.

**good on you. let him know he’s not alone. am here if he wants to talk.**

Shaking his head in an – ultimately – fruitless attempt to clear the confusing mixture of emotions from his mind, Jimmy sets the ladder up. Stretches, grabs the basket with one hand and climbs up into the tree.

Alan pads up the garden path, takes up residence underneath a hazelnut bush opposite Jimmy. Yawns and watches him. Probably tries to make sense of what his … old friend is doing right now. _I know. _Jimmy laughs to himself as he sees his cat stare at him with an utterly irritated expression. _Humans, right? You wouldn’t even know what to do with an apple._

(“He understands you.” Jimmy hears _him_ say.)

One and a half hours later, Jimmy, mildly drenched in sweat and with fire shooting up his calves, has finally picked every single apple. To his surprise, it helped. His mood may still match the now lighter grey sky, but he can’t deny it was good to have something to focus on.

He drops the basket at the foot of the tree, carries the ladder back into the shed, locks it again and has a long look at his spoils. A good three kilos. Enough for … no, not anymore, and they won’t see each other until Christmas.

So. Still good enough for his parents and his sister when they come to visit him on Saturday. Jimmy has to laugh as he tries to imagine their faces when he presents them with a hand-made apple strudel. _They deserve that, though. Mum’s gonna love Jos’ recipe._

Jimmy looks for Alan but can’t find him. Which doesn’t concern him at all. His cat has always been an independent fellow. Had to be, they haven’t spent a lot of time together over the past ten years, Jimmy being away on tours for too many nights to count. _He’ll be back with a dead mouse before I know it._

He carries the basket of apples indoors and takes another photo. Sends it to Jos.

And looks at his watch. Just about time to think about lunch. After he has had a shower, that is. And …

His phone buzzes again. Repeatedly. Has he forgotten to turn the notifications off for their team chat? Again? He really should …

Jimmy tries to ignore the constant vibrating in his side pocket while he goes to the bathroom. Looks for a clean towel, puts the phone down and switches the ventilator on. Who could be sending him so many messages right now? Can’t be Greg, they don’t meet until the following Wednesday (and Jimmy’s gonna have words with whoever decided to make the next episode a _Romance special_).

_And it definitely isn’t him._

Annoyed, because he is getting curious, Jimmy unlocks his phone.

**10 unread messages from Broady.** And all of them are photos.

Jimmy sighs. Knowing his mate, it’s probably nothing more than memes. Or stupid screenshots from this series he’s currently obsessed with. Nevertheless … he opens WhatsApp.

**Was just going through my favourite pics from Monday night. thought you might want them too. looking quite special there, mate.**

Jimmy swipes through the photos.

His heart begins to pound.

In the middle of a lot of silly selfies (Jonny with Trev’s hat and Joe’s stupid sunglasses, Ben having his hair done up with a ridiculous amount of gel), Jimmy stumbles upon a photo he hadn’t realised Broady had taken.

He is sitting in the far corner of the Oval changing room, still in his whites, back against the wall and his legs stretched out on the floor. And not alone either. _He _is there with him. Leaning into his arms, looking up at Jimmy with that special half-smile of his.

Jimmy’s own face … is shining. He has never seen himself look that way at someone before.

Realisation hits him like a Yorker. Makes him stumble.

His heart races in his ears and he feels his cheeks begin to glow.

_Just brilliant. Just fucking brilliant. It was nothing? Bloody hell it wasn’t._

_Why now, though? Why not last week? When we had That conversation?_

Tears burn in Jimmy’s eyes.

_Just fucking brilliant. Ten years and now this. I promised myself I wouldn’t._

_And now … it’s too late._

_I have caught feelings for him._

_And he will NEVER know._

Jimmy looks into the mirror.

And has to laugh at the stupidity of it all.


	2. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The test team has just returned from a very successful trip to Sri Lanka.  
Ali and Joe catch up over their first "second breakfast" in two months ...  
but it doesn't take long before a text from his agent reminds Ali of something he successfully ignored since September.  
How is he going to handle his first reunion with Jimmy? When things haven't actually been that "simple" for a while?

A snowflake lands on Ali’s head as he gets out of the car.

At least, he thinks it’s a snowflake.

Squinting into the almost silvery morning sky, he takes a closer look at the clouds passing above his head. It wouldn’t be a surprise, not in the North and not with the way temperatures have been dropping over the past few days.

Ali’s most favourite time of the year.

And not just his.

_Do your job, _he thinks. Pulls his woolly hat over his ears ( Joe will immediately recognise it – but what else is he supposed to do when some of his team issued-accessories are more comfortable than anything else he owns?), grabs a red bag from the back seat (no need for him to bring tea, this time, they were in Sri Lanka after all) and locks the car.

Knows he is smiling as he makes his way past a few front gardens, fenced off from their neighbours by, as usual in November, rather forbidding looking thuja hedges. _It has been too long. Far too long. And he’s done such a great job this tour._

The grey bungalow with its brick-red roof at the end of the small road looks every bit as inviting as Ali rememb… that definitely was another snowflake, he realises as he feels something cold and wet on the tip of his nose. Almost rubs his hands in delight and casts an eye across the garden.

The two apple trees Jos insisted on bringing up north with him have grown a lot since Ali saw them last. Although there are hardly any leaves left, they still frame the house rather beautifully. Add to the comfortable atmosphere the various little scrubs, fir tree (how is that one as tall as Ali, now? in a few years, Joe and Jos will have their own actual Christmas tree) and (obviously) empty wooden beds create as Ali follows the garden path and knocks at the front door.

Hears someone laugh from the other side. Footsteps (very excited footsteps) come closer.

Warmth settles on Ali’s shoulders.

And a very familiar figure appears in the doorframe, in something that looks like his pyjama bottoms and an old a bit battered red sweater with a Sheffield United badge sewn to it. Two light blue eyes look Ali up and down. “You haven’t aged at all.” Joe says with a mischievous grin.

“What the … why would I?” Ali laughs and shoots Joe a stern look. “What have I told you about being insubordinate.”

“I’m allowed to.” Joe reminds him in a tone that very nearly would have sounded authoritative. And then, suddenly, his eyes soften. “Well … other guys I know, they just fell apart when they…” he says quietly.

“I haven’t, yet.” Ali, having picked up on the insecurity in Joe’s voice, smiles and holds his arms out. “Come here, you. Missed you.”

Joe melts into Ali’s embrace. Closes his eyes. “You missed me too?” he whispers a bit shakily. “I mean … you haven’t got any idea how much I …”

“You’ve done brilliantly.” Ali says and – because nobody is watching them – kisses Joe’s forehead. “Mind letting me in? It’s starting to snow and … oh, and where’s Jos?”

“Still sleeping. He’s gonna be out for a while. Caught the cold that’s been doing the rounds.” Joe replies with an enamoured smile and steps aside to let his friend into the house.

The front room is, as Ali immediately notices, in the first stages of being decorated for Christmas. A red-and-white garland hangs lopsidedly from the coat rack, someone has fixed a long black nail to the other wall, undoubtedly to hang a Christmas wreath from it. And a stack of brown paper bags line the walls leading into the kitchen and living room.

“I’m taking stock.” Joe replies, turning to take Ali’s jacket off him. And laughs, all of a sudden. “You’re joking? All the hats you own and you’re wearing this one?” he says and punches Ali in the side.

Ali has no idea where his reaction is coming from. Feels himself soften as he meets Joe’s eyes.

“Maybe … I wanted to prove a point to you.” he says affectionately.

“What sort of point?” Joe tilts his head to the left, looks a bit confused.

“That I’m … still me. And … you’ve still got me.” Ali replies and embraces Joe again.

“I …” Joe falters. “Thanks.”

“Always.” Ali says softly. “Now, you were trying to tell me what’s in these paper bags?”

Joe rubs his hands. “It’s our first Christmas at home for ages. Planning to surprise Jossy and doing the house up a bit.” he explains excitedly. “Thing is, it took me nearly two hours to find that stuff last night. And we’re missing a few parts. So I’m just going through what we have. We’ll maybe need to head out later. I mean …” Joe’s brain catches up with his ears. “That is, if you want to do this with me.” he says and laughs a bit awkwardly.

“Of course I’ll help.” Ali shakes his head fondly. “That’s a lovely idea. But first … I’m hungry.”

Joe grabs his wrist. “Good thing I made muffins, then.”

Ali follows Joe into the kitchen. Is met with an intensely pleasing smell of vanilla and cinnamon. “I tried out a new recipe.” Joe explains, taking a plate out of the oven. “Christmas muffins. Kept them warm while I hung up that garland. Which took a bit longer than I wanted.”

“How long have you been up?” Ali laughs, placing his bag on the counter. “I mean, I left home at around 5:30, but it does take some time to get up here. Weather being what it is. So..” “Must have been 5:30 as well.” Joe says. “I had … it’s been too long since we had second breakfast. And I … you remembered?” he grins as he sees Ali take a package out of the bag. “Butter crème biscuits? I finished the last of my stock on the plane home. And they’re … “ “Brilliant with Ceylon tea, I know. I assume you…” “Of course.” Joe sounds almost offended. “I’ll get to it.”

Preparations done – “we’ve run out of milk, sorry, you’ll have to take cream in your tea but that’s nice too, trust me” – Ali and Joe carry everything to the living room and arrange their second breakfast – apples, muffins, biscuits and two slices of toast with honey – on a plate in the middle of the glass coffee table Joe bought when he became captain. “Might as well eat on the couch, right?” Joe says and grins.

“Right.” Ali warms his hands on his mug of tea. Settles onto the couch.

And Joe – as usual – immediately leans into his side.

Ali wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you. You played brilliantly, that was one of the best centuries I’ve ever seen you get. And … you’ve got one up on me after barely two years in the job.” Joe blushes. “You can’t really compare that. I … had three spinners on form, you barely had one. And … but, let’s change the subject. What _have _you actually been doing since September? Except for the stuff you told me about?” he asks after he has helped himself to two biscuits and dunked them in his fragrant black tea.

Amused – not that it’s entirely new to him, but Joe’s genuine interest in even the simplest things Ali’s got on his mind still surprises Ali after nearly (no, not nearly, it already w_as_ six years last month) … after that long time – Ali pulls Joe a little bit closer. Finishes his slice of toast while he tells Joe about winter nets in Chelmsford, about that Sunday in early October that he spontaneously decided to go to London and “play tourist” – “let’s face it, when was the last time you went to Westminster Abbey” and about the new running shoes he bought last week.

“Glad you found yourself something to do.” Joe says warmly and looks Ali into the eyes.

_Reading my mind. As usual._

“I did. And there’s a few interesting rumours. All nonsense if you ask me.” Ali takes a sip from his mug. “What sorts of rumours?” Joe cuts one of the apples into slices and takes one. “They say … I’m in for a knighthood.” Ali laughs.

Joe chokes on his apple. “What the …” Ali pounds on his back. “I mean, brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, you really deserve that.” Joe continues once he has recovered. “But how? Who’s saying that?”

“Neil.” Ali says.

Joe’s eyes widen. “Okay, Neil’s usually on to something. Wow. I mean … is there anyone else except for Beefy? Not that I know of.” “Don’t think there is. But … I don’t … what exactly have I done to …”

A sudden sound interrupts Ali. “Sorry, that was my phone.”

Joe stares at him, fighting back giggles. “Since when do you have the TARDIS as your message alert?”

“Since I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. I’ve started watching Doctor Who.” Ali says and grabs his phone. “From Neil. Man’s got a sixth sense, I tell you. He really only texts when I’m talking about him. I … oh wow.”

All of a sudden, Ali feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees. His heart starts to pound. A bit more than it should at this kind of news. But … _there’s a reason for that. I … two months and it hasn’t changed a bit. Brilliant. How am I gonna … I guess I can only hope he’s busy. That would sound like him. He doesn’t do this kind of stuff._

“Ali?” Joe looks confused. “What’s up?”

“Read it.” Ali says in an unsteady voice. Laces his fingers together, stares at his shoes. Feels a blush creeping on his cheeks and his hands begin to shake.

**Morning, Ali, hope you’re doing well. I’ve just had word from the BBC: your last century is in the running for Sports moment of the year at the Sports Personality Awards. Yes, they do expect you to attend the ceremony on December 16. I’ll text you the details as soon as I have them. By the way, these are the nominees for Sports Personality. I guess you know one of them! ;-)**

“How is that even a choice?” Joe laughs after he has finished Neil’s text. “I mean, that was … whoever wrote that script, we owe them, that… Ali?” Joe turns to look at him, puzzled. “Ali, what’s … are you scared of something?” he asks gently and covers Ali’s right hand with his.

Annoyed at himself, Ali takes a deep breath. “I … not really. It’s just … have you seen who’s been nominated for the big prize?” His voice is trembling more than he wants it to. Which annoys him even more. Makes him grit his teeth.

“Wait a second … oh.” Joe nearly drops Ali’s phone.

For a while, he looks into Ali’s eyes, evidently struggling to find the right words. “But I thought … _have _you actually_ spoken _to him since September_?”_

Ali feels like a proper idiot right now (_you are, _a voice at the back of his head – which _still _has a _bloody _Lancastrian accent – tells him bluntly). But if there’s anyone with who he can be honest about this entire mess, it’s the mischievous (and occasionally shy) lad sitting next to him on this comfortable red sofa.

“No. I haven’t. We were very clear about that. I mean … after ten years, we needed a bit of time away from each other. I …” Ali feels tears shooting into his eyes. “Of course I haven’t. We had an arrangement, we always told each other that we’d keep this simple, fuckssake. There was no place for emotions. Other than friendship, that is. But I … and I can’t help myself, apparently. Look at me. I’m panicking because I’m about to see him next month, in public, and I … shouldn’t. He’s my best friend, other than you of course. I should be excited. But I…” The living room begins to turn into water in front of Ali’s eyes. He swallows. Sighs.

“I’m not. I’m panicking because it’s over and I’m … I’ve been … inlovewithhimforoverthreeyearsandIpromisedmyselfthiswasn’tgoingtohappen.” Ali’s last words are almost inaudible.

“Oh shit.” Joe whispers and pulls Ali into his arms. “Shit. Shit. I’m sorry.” he says gently while he strokes Ali’s back. “You’ve still got it bad?” Ali nods almost imperceptibly. “And that’s why you haven’t called or texted him at all while we were in Sri Lanka?”

“Has he said anything to you?” Ali wants to know after he has calmed down again.

“No. Not a word. He was … actually he was quite busy. Stuart was really lovely, looked after him a lot because … I think he was a bit lonely, Jim. But he’s also getting on well with Jack. So … you’d have to ask Stuart if you want to know what’s going on. If you’d get anything out of him, that is.” Joe smiles briefly and squeezes Ali’s hand. “Shit, that isn’t easy. But, tell you what. I’m coming with you. Me and Jossy, that is. We’re … if you want to, we’re gonna keep an eye on you.” he says with conviction.

Ali feels his shoulders sag with relief. “You’d do that?” he asks, surprised.

“What else. You’ve done so many things for me. You … if it’s too tough to speak to him or … you know … you can stick with us, that evening. That is … if you want me to.” Joe adds with a shy smile.

An identical smile spreads across Ali’s face. _That’s everything I wanted. _

“Joey.” he says warmly. “Of course I want that. I … why are you so good at this? How come you always know what … or how?” Joe blushes. “I just do. Settled?”

“Settled.” They, out of sheer habit, “bump gloves”. And Joe laughs. “Want another muffin?”

“Not right now, after lunch maybe. Now …” Ali looks at his watch, “wow, I’ve never seen Jos sleep in this late. Nevertheless, if you want to give the house a bit of a Christmas do-over…”

“You’re right.” Joe grins and puts his mug down. “Let’s get to it.”

Ali finishes the last of his apple slices and follows Joe into the front room. “I assume you’ve already taken the scissors and some string with you?” he asks, pointing towards the pile of decoration.

“Obviously.” Joe says importantly.

“Hand me the wreath then, I’m gonna hang it up. On this wall over here?”

“Exactly. Right above the third step.” Joe takes one of the bags. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ali smiles. “Looking forward to seeing Jos’ face when he wakes up.”

“Me too.” Joe beams while he fishes a garland consisting of tiny silver snowmen out of the bag. “Where do I put this, in your opinion?”

"Not around your shoulders, it isn't a feather boa!" Ali laughs as Joe strikes a pose.

While they do their best to add some Christmas flair to the cosy house in Salford, Ali feels his mood begin to lighten. As it always does when he is around Joe.

_Good thing I told him. It does make everything a bit more bearable._

_You’re the best friend I’d never expected to have, _he thinks as he watches Joe balance on the top of a chair, straightening the snowmen garland out. _Glad I’ve got you, Joey._


	3. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being nominated for one of the biggest sports awards in the country does actually mean you have to attend the ceremony.  
Even if it means running into your former friend with benefits after three months.  
And even if you promised to keep your new-found revelation about your relationship to yourself.
> 
> BBC Sports Personality of the Year Awards, December 16.  
Features a very grumpy grumpycat. CW for the last paragraph: death of a pet.

Jimmy feels nauseous.

Not “we’re out for a meal in the subcontinent and I have no idea what I actually just ate” – nauseous. Or “if I don’t come up with an idea very soon, we’re gonna let this game slip away” – nauseous.

He can deal with those two varieties. As he should after fifteen years.

No, the reason he has been sitting in his car for the past five – or maybe ten – minutes, sick with nerves and feeling like there are a million things he would rather do right now (including facing an over against Curtly Ambrose or Courtney Walsh at their scariest best), is an entirely different one. And has got nothing to do with the reason he took his favourite suit to the cleaner’s on Monday and even went to get his hair cut last night.

_I really should be over it. It’s three months. It’s three months and I haven’t heard from him._

_Of course, _the moment word got out that Jimmy made the shortlist for Sports Personality of the year, which still baffles him if he’s entirely honest with himself (how has he become the first cricketer since Freddie to be in the running for the award? Freddie has exactly the type of personality for that kind of prize. Jimmy … prides himself on being the opposite of a people person (_and will his voice please get out of my head?_).), it only took about five minutes for his so-called friends to spot the other thing on the list of nominees.

The reason Jimmy has taken several attempts to leave the car.

And is still shaking as badly as he hasn’t since that last hour in Cardiff, nine years ago.

_Of course, _it had been Swanny, that perennial meddler of a friend, who called him first up. Asked him, in an oh-so-innocent voice, if he’d had a look at the rest of the categories and if there was anything he would like to talk to Swanny about.

Jimmy feigned innocence. Knowing that Swanny would bring it up anyway.

“Jim, what more do you need? You could both end up winning prizes on the 16th. You … have you spoken to him at all since the Oval?” Swanny was annoyingly giddy.

When Jimmy didn’t reply, Swanny snorted. “Oh you two dense idiots. Just you wait. I’m gonna come down for the gala and I will help you. Otherwise it’s never gonna happen.”

It had taken all of Jimmy’s goodwill (Swanny does mean well, he does want Jimmy to be happy, even if he is completely delusional – there are _no signs at all _that _he _has got any sort of feelings for Jimmy) not to fly off at his friend. Instead, taking a trick out of Matt’s (Mattchin, that is, as bonkers as it is, the nickname suits him) book, he expertly changed the subject. Teased Swanny about his run on Dancing With The Stars, asked him if he wouldn’t mind offering free lessons to some of his England teammates – “you’d have your hands full though, standards have been slipping”.

They hung up after half an hour (Swanny should feel special about this, Jimmy hates spending that much time on the phone – unless, of course … but that hasn’t happened at all since June). Agreed to meet up for a quick meal before the gala on Saturday afternoon.

Somehow, as awful as he feels about it, Jimmy was relieved when Swanny texted him last night. Told him that he’d caught a bad cold from his daughter and that he was definitely not going to risk going out in this kind of miserable December weather. Jimmy made sure Swanny knew just how sorry he felt … and then, having sent off the reply, felt a weight drop from his shoulders.

He didn’t trust Swanny not to do anything stupid.

Nor, for that matter …

Jimmy’s phone buzzes.

Which, to his annoyance, causes his heart to skip a beat.

He wants to slap himself.

_I’m not sixteen anymore, fuck’s sake. Also … why should he. Why today?_

With unsteady hands, he reaches for his phone, stuffed into the side pocket of his suit jacket. And immediately lets out a groan. _Of course. I almost forgot about that lanky blonde git. _

**U there yet? Someone here who u’d like to see.**

Jimmy’s cheeks heat up. He isn’t entirely sure how much Broady knows about his … thing that definitely isn’t a thing anymore (and was _nothing to begin with_). Then again, he can’t be sure (although they were extra careful, they always were, lest anyone could accuse _him_ of favouritism) that his bowling partner hasn’t picked up on the odd thing or two. Stuart was there with them from the beginning, after all.

_And what exactly tells you that he meant him?_, he asks himself, annoyed.

Jimmy looks at his reflection in the rear mirror. Clenches his fists. Takes a deep breath. And feels something like determination settle over him. As it always does in the end. He’s survived his fair share of public events in fifteen years after all.

So, he’s going to take on this evening as he’s always done. Chin up, don’t forget to smile, keep the cringing to a minimum (he _knows_ he’s going to come up with some embarrassing comments) and … go home as soon as possible without being rude.

_And, no matter what happens, don’t give away a single thing. Just … fuck’s sake, it’s going on thirteen years, you should remember how to behave around your best mate after all._

_Even if you actually have a crush on him._

Jimmy sighs. “Okay, here we go.” he says. Slips his car keys into his other side pocket, checks his wallet for the invitation and the 70 pounds he withdrew from an ATM before he left for London.

And leaves the car.

For the first ten minutes, while he navigates his way out of the car park and towards the arena where the gala is going to start in about ninety minutes, everything goes according to plan. Hardly any people recognise him, and those that do (but then cricket fans always do that, it’s what Jimmy loves about his sport) only flash him an excited smile or wave a bit shyly.

And there are no signs of his friends at all. Which is probably just as well.

Jimmy hands his invitation over at the entrance and has a look around. He has caught bits and pieces of the awards on TV over the years, but actually being there, much less being one of the nominees … it does overwhelm him more than he wants to.

_If only he was here right now. He would know what to say. He… I miss him. He always knew how to calm me down. How long has it been since I last had his arm around me…_

_oh, of course. Since that Tuesday at the Oval. Before my last spell. And …_

Jimmy feels tears tickle at the corners of his eyelids. Blinks rapidly.

Someone is looking at him.

He immediately knows.

Turns his head very, very slowly. Hopes _he_ doesn’t notice his facial expression (it is not exactly bright over here, backstage). _He _would immediately recognise it. And Jimmy doesn’t trust himself tonight. Not to do anything stupid in case _he _decides to …

Like audibly draw breath at the sight he is greeted with.

Alastair (no, for fuck’s sake, don’t be this formal, it has been “Ali” since at least the 2007 World Cup) looks every bit as effortlessly handsome as he was the last time Jimmy saw him. Three months and three days ago, to be precise. In the pleasant morning light of late summer, in their hotel room (Ali’s room always ended up being theirs by default) in South London. Granted, his hair was a bit messier when he wrapped his arms around Jimmy for one final kiss.

What was the last thing they said to each other? “Watch the curries in Sri Lanka, remember what happened last time.” Or something like that. An inside joke. Something comfortable. Something that skirted the elephant in the room.

Jimmy can’t remember.

Can’t, for the life of him, look anywhere else right now. Anywhere, really anywhere, but at the sight of the unbelievably beautiful young man with his broad shoulders, wearing his one good suit (he has never really liked formal dress, but _my word it suits him_) and something that Jimmy, as Ali comes closer, immediately recognises as …

“You’re incredible.” he says with a laugh that feels every bit as genuine as he hoped. “First official engagement since you retired and you’re wearing your England tie?”

_Well done, James. Kept it simple. As you wanted it._

Ali blushes (Jimmy completely forgot how easily he blushes, in fact that shyness is something Jimmy has always liked about him). And laughs. Sending shivers down Jimmy’s spine. “I like to meet people’s expectations.” he says elegantly. “And Jim … well done. I couldn’t think of anyone else who deserves this more than you.”

_How could I forget how much I love that smile of his? I … god this is gonna be hard._

“I…” Jimmy begins but Ali interrupts him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m surprised you actually showed up, though.” he says.

Jimmy can’t help himself. Has to give Ali a little punch in the side. “Could say the same about you.” he replies and feels a stupidly big smile sneak upon his face. Which, to his annoyance, ruins any effect he wanted to have. Something very similar to butterflies tingles in his belly.

_What can I do, honestly, when he’s so … my word, how am I going to survive this evening?_

Ali returns his smile and they keep looking at each other for a while. Comfortably silent. As usual. On the best evenings they spent with each other, they hardly needed any words. Which is one of the reasons they have been inseparable for the last thirteen years. _Maybe I should tell him … no. I don’t want to ruin his evening. It would be incredibly selfish and … who knows, maybe he doesn’t want to know._

Jimmy sighs before he can stop it. And Ali immediately looks concerned. “You okay, Jim?”

At the same time, however, a young white woman in an orange evening gown waltzes over to them and introduces herself. Tells them that she has been charged with looking after the nominees and that now everyone has arrived, they would like to run through the evening’s protocol with them – “and afterwards, you’re of course free to enjoy our excellent buffet!”.

Glad for the interruption, Jimmy follows her out of the room. Not without – without knowing how, but old habits die hard – shooting Ali a look. One that his best friend has to understand as “let’s get through this, it’s only three hours anyway”.

It has served them well over the years.

Still seems to.

Going by that gorgeous smile Ali flashes him.

Dress rehearsals and small talk with the other nominees done with, Jimmy turns to Ali again. Having spent the last thirty minutes actually paying attention, trying to remember where he is supposed to stand when the categories are announced and who is going to hand what to …, has done wonders for his mood. Has given him something else to focus on.

Other than this statue of a man.

Who gives him a quizzical smile.

“What’s on your mind, Jim?” Ali asks, looking for a moment as if he wants to put an arm around Jimmy and then weirdly decides not to.

“Dinner.” Jimmy replies.

Ali laughs. “Likewise. Let’s go. The lads must be here by now.” he says and smiles.

Jimmy stares at him. “Lads? Do you mean you invited someone as well?” he asks, stupidly. “Sorry, of course you would, you must have gotten the same letter I did and …” But then he recognises a softening in Ali’s eyes and – reputations have to be upheld, after all – groans. “Should have known you’d bring that pest.”

“That pest is your captain, James.” Ali gently chides him. “And don’t pretend you aren’t actually close, now. He’s told me about Sri Lanka.”

Jimmy feels himself blush. Which annoys him immensely. “So? We were on our own and…” _we both missed you more than you could imagine. And I did promise Jos I would keep an eye on him. And …_

But of course, Jimmy doesn’t tell Ali any of that. What good would it do?

While he uneasily fidgets with a tissue in his pocket, tries to come up with an answer, a slightly mischievous voice suddenly shouts, “Oh finally, there is that idiot!”

Jimmy would recognise this particular Midlands accent anywhere.

Somehow, hearing it calms him down.

“Be nice, I could actually win something tonight.” he says, falling into his tried-and-trusted “winding Broady up” tone, without giving him the honour of turning around. “As if you care.” Stuart replies and Jimmy hears, more than he sees, that his friend is grinning. That sort of grin that usually precedes at least twenty minutes of sledging (as known as their warm-up routine on day one of a test).

“As if you’ve got any idea what this feels like.” Jimmy is now grinning as well (and only out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ali blush again. Jimmy has no idea why.).

“Soft old grumpy cat.” Stuart hugs Jimmy. Salutes Ali. “So you actually found each other. Good. And Jim, I think you recognise that tie?” he says with an interesting smirk on his face.

Before Jimmy can reply, he hears someone laugh softly.

A different laugh. Full of warmth.

“First that woolly hat, now your tie, Ali, you don’t have to prove it time and again.” Joe says.

Ali smiles. “I told you, didn’t I? I’ll always be…” “England cricket through and through.” Joe says in a soft voice and they hug. “Let’s go get something from that buffet before the rest of the lads are here.”

“Rest of the lads?” Jimmy’s sentence has an echo.

His expression must be identical to Ali’s, going by Joe’s and Stuart’s laugh. “Of course, what did you expect? Two of our own are flying the flag tonight.” Stuart squeezes Jimmy’s arm. “So, I did what any good captain would have done – I told them there’s a free buffet and everyone immediately agreed to come.” Joe says importantly.

Ali shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.” But then, Joe is distracted by the arrival of his boyfriend. “Sorry, I got lost.” Jos explains with a sheepish smile and kisses Joe. “Oh, you found Jim, good.”

“Jossy, I’m starving.” Joe complains.

“Off you go then,” Jos laughs, giving Joe a little shove.

Who drags Ali and Stuart to the buffet with him.

“You okay, Jim?” Jos asks quietly once their friends are out of earshot. “You look a bit tense.”

_How on earth does he do that, _Jimmy wonders. A shiver runs down his spine. For a moment, he wonders if he should tell Jos about it. Would do him good to have someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t tease him for it or try to plant stupid ideas in his head that there may actually be a chance (_Greg, I expected more from you). _

Because that wouldn’t be like Jos at all.

Jos doesn’t do gossip (much). Or judges anyone for anything (out of the various reactions Jimmy had for his coming-out in Spain three years ago, Jos’ was his favourite – Jos simply smiled and said “welcome to the club” before hugging Jimmy).

Jos is an excellent listener. And…

_No, James, you’re not doing that._

Jimmy grins a bit awkwardly. “Don’t worry. Just me and crowds.” he replies with a shrug.

Jos squeezes his arm. “No need to explain. But that’s what we’re here for. Just … tell me if it’s too much.” he says and looks at Jimmy with a reassuring smile.

“Jossy if you don’t hurry up I’ll finish those chicken wings on my own.”

“That was a serious threat.” Jos laughs (_he’s also got a cute laugh_). “Let’s grab something to eat, Jim.”

The actual awards ceremony passes by in a blur, as those kinds of occasions always seem to do.

Jimmy, having been persuaded by Stuart and Joe to “stop being stupid, of course you’re sitting next to Ali”, finds himself enjoying the evening more than he planned, feels (at least part of him) a bit proud to share the stage with so many accomplished people. Has a few laughs, decides to take all the compliments he gets as genuine (even though he is slightly embarrassed – he hasn’t heard this much lavish praise in a while).

All the while through the gala, Jimmy can’t shake off a strange feeling. Every so often, when he sneaks a look at the seat to his left, allows himself to appreciate Ali’s frankly ridiculously gorgeous profile while his best friend watches the stage with that _lovely_ half-smile on his face, he almost feels as if there is a hand on his arm. Or at least, a finger.

Doesn’t see a thing, however. And decides to write it off as nonsense. As wishful thinking.

Jimmy’s well-honed pessimism serves him right in the end. Of course, after he got the phone call, he did indulge a little, did allow himself to dream about winning the award. Which was highly unlikely, everyone knew that. Still, it feels like he’s done a bit tonight, for his friends and for his sport in general.

So, as they head home without any sort of prize, Jimmy isn’t disappointed at all (except for Ali, because what on earth were they thinking, that was the definition of “moment of the year”).

As they leave the arena, an unpleasant fresh wind greets them. Making Joe shiver and snuggle up to Jos. “Lads, you heading home?” Jimmy’s captain asks, gritting his teeth. “I was going to take everyone to the pub round the corner for a drink, but…” “Thanks, not tonight.” Ben answers. “Let’s do that next Friday.” “Settled. Ali, you coming too?” Joe asks and flashes Ali his most convincing smile.

“Oh well,” Ali smiles. And Joe beams at him. “Brilliant. Night, lads.” Jos pulls Joe closer. “Let’s warm you up, Joey, your nose is freezing.”

Jimmy did not plan this. At all. Planned to say goodbye to Ali, wish him a safe journey home, maybe even agree to have a coffee before they meet the lads in a week.

Then again, it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest that, once everyone has hurried to their cars, Ali is the only one of his friends still here. Stands a few feet across from him, his hands buried in his coat. And – for some reason – smiles at Jimmy.

“So that was fun.” he says. “You … how’s everything up North? What’s Alan up to these days?”

_Shit. Shit. How did he… he can’t know. Nobody knows. Not even Jos. I mean … I planned to tell Broady, eventually, but I … and I definitely didn’t want him to know. Not tonight. I … Stop looking at me, or I can’t guarantee I’m not going to…_

“Jim?” Ali asks and Jimmy hears the concern in his voice. “Jim? You okay?” He takes a step in Jimmy’s direction. Looks like he’s fighting with himself, insecure what he should do.

Jimmy swallows. Stares at the traffic light he can see in the far distance. His eyes hurt.

There is a hand on his shoulder. “Jim?” Ali asks again.

_Shit._ Jimmy feels the tears forcing their way out. “I… he’s dead.” he mumbles. Doesn’t want to elaborate. Doesn’t want to recall that terrible evening when he, back from a run, stumbled upon something black on the road and …

Arms wrap themselves around him.

And Jimmy lets go, all resolutions flying out of the window.

“I’m so sorry, Jim.” Ali whispers. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. He was such a lovely fella.”

“He was.” Jimmy sniffles. “Getting on 18 years. Would have been my oldest…” his voice breaks.

Ali strokes his back. Sending little electroshocks down Jimmy’s spine. “I know. You gave him the best life he could have had. I know that. And … I’m gonna miss him too.”

Jimmy wipes his eyes. Looks at Ali. His cheeks feel as if they are on fire. And he can hear his heart racing in his ears. Can’t really guess what his best friend is thinking right now.

“Thanks.” he whispers.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” Ali says in an odd tone of voice.

Jimmy’s face is crimson. Insecurely, he extends his left hand and places it on Ali’s shoulder. “I know. And I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. I … missed talking to you.” he admits quietly.

Ali blushes. “Me too.”

“So…” Jimmy falters. “You … busy next week?”

“Why would I be.” A shadow crosses Ali’s face for an instant.

Jimmy squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll think of something.”

Ali smiles. “Fine. Let’s get home.”

“Text me when you’re home.” Jimmy says. As he has done on countless nights in the last 12 years.

Ali beams. “You too. Night, Jim.”

Jimmy waves after Ali’s car. Puts his hotel address into the satnav.

And leaves the ground with an incredibly stupid smile on his face.


	4. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2019, St. Lucia.  
Commentating on your closest friends playing a test match is a challenge in itself.  
Hard to be objective. Most of all when your best friend scores a century.  
And then ... Ali finally gets the chance for a proper chat with Jimmy. Their first since That Day.

Ali sees it at the same time as Ben.

A beaming smile spreads across his face. A shiver runs down his spine.

Down in the middle, he watches a figure in whites and a dark blue England helmet sprint down the wicket, is almost convinced he picked up speed (because by now, he must have realised it as well). Bites back a laugh (entirely inappropriate, considering where he is right now).

He has seen this before so many times.

Seen this lad down there jump in the air as high as he can.

While around him, the stands fill with a familiar chant.

That Ali nearly wants to join in (now that would be completely out of line).

Instead, he watches.

Watches, as the young batsman in the middle takes off his helmet, raises his bat. Watches his batting partner hug him, watches the figures on the balcony to his right – on their feet, as one – applaud their captain. Who, Ali is quite sure about that, is watching everything with that cute shy smile of his.

Shiver after shiver runs down Ali’s spine. He forces himself to think of something different. Does not want to relive that last occasion. That last time he saw his best friend jump for joy on a cricket field. _Because I still haven’t watched it. It’s still too emotional. Too raw._

_Considering what else happened … later that night._

Ali swallows. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Aggers (Jonathan Agnew, that is, but who really calls him by his actual first name) watch him curiously. Give him the signal – they are about to be live on air again. _Do you want to do the honours? _Aggers seems to ask.

Ali nods. And smiles. _What more do I want from my first time on TMS?_

“Joe Root has just scored his 16th test century. A captain’s innings, less fluent than you would see from him in English conditions, but a great performance from him nonetheless.” Ali says and wonders how many of the listeners at home can pick up on … what did Stuart once call it … the smile in his voice.

“Cooky, I have to give you credit.” Aggers replies and winks at Ali. “You told me this was going to happen when Root was on 10 runs. What made you so sure? He did have a bit of a hard time against the West Indies pacers in this series so far.”

_I always know. He also always knew. _Which, of course, doesn’t make for good commentary.

Ali thinks of a more intelligent explanation.

Settles back in his chair.

And watches the rest of the day’s play with a smile on his face. That doesn’t seem to want to leave him.

Two days later.

Ali’s boys (they will always be his boys, no matter how much time passes) win the test, mostly thanks to a typically outlandish bowling spell from Jimmy (that only luck prevented from becoming yet another five-fer) and some good catches from everyone.

As the presentations finish and the West Indies players head out on a well-deserved lap of honour, Ali puts his headset down and stretches. Looks at Aggers. “At least they restored some pride.” Aggers says and hands him the glass bottle of water he bought at lunch. “Not just that. They know they can play well. Joe knows what he’s doing. It’s just … you need patience in our sport. You know that.” Ali pours himself a glass of water.

Aggers nods understandingly. “You’re right, Cooky. So … how did it feel? Watching them?”

Ali swallows. “Odd. Absolutely odd. I wanted to be on the field with them more than once.”

“You mean when Jimmy was bowling?” Aggers asks with a grin.

Ali’s cheeks take on a deep shade of pink. _Was I that obvious?_

Apparently, his old friend can read his facial expressions. Because Aggers, still wearing one of those atrocious Hawaii shirts he bought in Barbados, begins to laugh. “You were.” he explains, amused. “I saw you follow every ball with your eyes.”

“So?” Ali knows that was an entirely ineffective attempt at “playing it cool”. Avoiding Aggers’ eyes (now definitely sparkling with mirth, he is sure about that – _please don’t tell me he’s picked up on something_), he takes a deep breath and tries again.

“I mean, what did you expect? We played together for over 12 years. Old habits die hard.” is what he eventually comes up with.

Which, he is glad, seems to do the trick, because there are no further questions while they pack everything up and head out of the small comfortable room in the press area that doubled as their studio. “What are you up to tomorrow? Stuart told me you don’t fly back until Saturday night?” Aggers says while he loads his suitcase into his car.

“Joe’s idea. He’s convinced we need a few days off. Him and Jos definitely do before the ODI series and before their World Cup preparations begin. And…,” Ali’s face softens, “it’s been far too long since I spent any sort of time with all of them.”

“Good idea.” Aggers agrees. “Enjoy yourselves. And…,” he looks at Ali curiously, “would you be up for this again?”

Ali gives it some thought. “If my schedule allows it, of course. I a_m_ still playing, you know.” he replies.

Aggers smiles. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Take care, Cooky. You’re quite good at this!”

They shake hands and Aggers drives off in search of a restaurant for dinner.

Ali watches his car disappear up a hill. Begins to relax.

For about half a minute. Then, his stupid, stupid, irrational, idiotic subconscious reminds him of that one thing he definitely wasn’t going to think about. With shaking hands, he bends down to open and re-tie his shoelaces. Hears his heart pound in his ears.

_It’s FEBRUARY, _he tells himself exasperatedly. _It’s going on half a year since we ended it. You really should be over it, you … knobhead. And no, insulting yourself in Northern slang doesn’t help._

Ali sighs. Wants to head off in the direction of his hotel when something, from behind his back, without warning, hits his midriff. He is squeezed by a pair of arms, so enthusiastically that he briefly gasps.

Someone laughs about five centimetres away from his right ear.

“You cheeky little shit.” Ali turns around with a smile and returns the hug (almost as enthusiastically).

Feels Joe – as usual – melt slightly into his arms. Hears his best friend let out a long relieved sigh.

“Finally. That felt great.” Joe says and beams at Ali. Looks (which doesn’t surprise Ali at all, he’s been there) slightly emotional, bites his lip self-consciously (which does catch Ali off guard). “We just listened to a bit of your commentary with Aggers, the lads were curious. And… Ali.” Joe says softly. Looks him directly into the eyes.

“You…,” Joe clears his throat. “You called it? When I was on 10 runs? You were convinced I’d get a ton? What… I mean … why?” he continues in a hoarse voice.

_Joey. I always know._ “Just returning the favour.” Ali says affectionately. Tries to ignore the slight lump in his throat at the memory. Joe needs to hear him say it. He doesn’t know how he knows _that._

“It was written in the stars.” he tells Joe in the same affectionate tone.

Joe swallows. “If you know where to look.” he finishes quietly.

They look at each other. “So…” Ali begins.

“What. Oh … you mean _that?_ He’s in the shower. And you know that takes ages.” Joe grins. And then beams again. “Jossy, look who’s here!” he shouts delightedly.

“I knew it.” Jos laughs and crosses the car park in a few strides. “So … they still let you do that even though you’re media now?” he asks and Ali immediately picks up on the insecurity in his voice. “Jossy.” Joe chides his boyfriend. “He isn’t media. He’s Ali.” he says with conviction.

Ali and Jos burst out laughing at the same time. “Joey.” Jos grins and kisses Joe’s cheek. “That wasn’t just cheeky, that was downright…”

“Insubordinate.” Ali finishes Jos’ sentence. In something resembling his old “captain voice”. “And no, Jos, don’t worry. That isn’t gonna change. I’m still me.” he smiles and squeezes Jos’ hand.

And then … his heart skips a beat. Once again.

Because at this exact moment, two figures approach. A lanky blonde one in a still ridiculous sunhat… and one Ali would always, always recognise. Looking … _rather cute (so? Nobody’s ever going to hear this)_ in shorts and something that looks like Stuart’s tracksuit jacket, going by the size of it.

There are butterflies in Ali’s belly as Jimmy catches sight of him. And there it is again. That ridiculously handsome half-smile Jimmy seems to reserve for him. Only, today, it looks a bit more … shy? Why?

“Great job, Ali.” Jimmy says as they come closer. “First of many. And they don’t have any issues with you being…” “Very much on our side.” Stuart joins in. “That was obvious.”

“Oh lads, relax.” Ali says, deciding to address both of them rather than draw any more attention to his – once again – crimson cheeks (because _what has Jimmy done that makes him look this… he’s got a tan_). “Aggers wouldn’t have asked me if I wanted to do this again if they weren’t satisfied. Anyway, well done, you two, yes, you too, Stuart. And happy rest-of-the-week off!” he smiles at his friends.

Joe grins. “Well said. Let’s go, I’m hungry.”

Jimmy shoves Joe affectionately. “How serious were you last night?”

“About “captain’s dinner” ?” Joe tilts his head to his left. “I mean… oh well. Let’s go to that barbecue place across the road from our hotel. Food’s on me.” he adds with a generous gesture.

“You _are_ learning how to behave.” Jimmy notes and smirks at Ali, satisfied.

As Ali expected, their dinner lasts at least three courses and a generous helping of banana ice-cream (and of course, now that the last Test is over, a couple of drinks). He spends several hours with his in the little restaurant, overlooking the beach. 

While they discuss everything that happened in the series, fill Ali in on all the events they didn’t have time to tell him about so far, and then, somehow, end up in an animated debate about the World Cup, barely three months away now, Ali feels the last remaining doubts he had since his retirement vanish into thin air. _Nothing’s going to change between us._

_Not even … because we’re definitely still friends._

At long last, Joe keeps yawning every two minutes. And Stuart also looks like he wants to grab a towel and curl up on the soft white sand of the beach to their right.

Ali smiles warmly at them. “Let’s get you to bed, lads.” he says and calls for the bill.

“And what…,” Joe rubs his eyes, “what are we up to tomorrow?”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Stuart. “What sort of a question is that. We’re going for a swim.”

_Alastair, you’re not a teenager anymore. _Ali only narrowly avoids toppling his chair as he stands up. Feels Joe jab a finger into his lower back and realises he is blushing again. “Fine with me,” he says a little too airily to be convincing. “Off with us. Thanks for inviting us, Joey.”

The following morning, after a very confusing dream, Ali wakes up with the sound of about a thousand birds screaming outside his bedroom window. Stretches and yawns, pulls himself upright and pads to the balcony. Wants to take a closer look at the birds, animal life in the Caribbean has always fascinated him… but then he becomes _very aware_ of someone watching him.

Very slowly, Ali looks around.

Jimmy, in his favourite running shorts and a tattered old shirt (didn’t he buy that when he went shopping with Swanny before the Brisbane test in 2010?), leans in the door of the other balcony. Watches Ali with a curious expression. Weirdly … flustered? But why would he be, he’s seen … oh.

It is only now Ali realises what he’s forgotten. In these temperatures, he never sleeps with a shirt but… what about this surprises Jimmy this much? How? It’s not like he hasn’t …

Ali tries his best not to sigh. Smiles at Jimmy and wants to head back indoors…

“ow.”

“Fuck! You okay?” Jimmy sounds like he has to try not to laugh.

Ali winces and rubs his head. Looks around. “Thank God nobody else saw that. Bloody wall.” he grumbles (which reminded him of Jimmy more than he wants to).

Jimmy smiles. “Go put something cold on it, that should help. I’ll…”

_You what? _Ali wonders. _What are you trying to say?_

Jimmy scratches himself behind his ear. As he always does when he feels insecure. “I’ll … never mind, I don’t know where I was going with this.” he continues in an unusually soft voice. “See you at breakfast.”

An excellent breakfast later, Ali meets up with the rest of his friends. “Let’s not move all day.” Joe suggests with a grin. “I’m sore to say the least.” “Nothing a good swim can’t help you with.” Jos smiles and grabs a handle of their team ice box. “Let’s look for a spot. Should still be quite empty.”

A large ancient palm tree provides enough shade for all five of them. Stuart spreads all their towels onto the white sand and Jos passes a bottle of sunscreen around. “Might as well.” he says and smiles as Joe immediately flops himself flat on the towel to his feet. “Massage, Jossy? Please?”

After an extended nap, Jimmy and Stuart go to the seashore to “test the waters”. “It’s really nice!” Stuart shouts back up the beach. “Come on, lads, you’ll love it!”

“I’ll keep an eye on you.” Joe whispers to Ali and grins conspiratorially.

“Thanks.” Ali squeezes Joe’s arm and picks up their beach ball. “You still kept this one? Must be going on six years since we bought it.” “And that surprises you because…” Joe retorts.

“Right. Why should it.” Ali smiles and takes off his shoes to join his friends.

Ali might be able to keep focused on the water polo game that immediately develops in the shallow warm waters around them (“it’s our job, of course we’re gonna turn everything into an actual match,” he hears Swanny say). Might even have been able, to his own surprise, to pat Jimmy’s back after Jimmy scores a “goal” from a particularly difficult angle.

Jimmy’s behaviour, however, is enough to confuse him.

More than once Ali catches Jimmy trying to sneak a look at him. Only to then turn away with an awkward smile and proceed to splash water at Stuart.

And every so often, Jimmy looks as if he wants to ask Ali something. Almost looks … sad.

It is enough to give Ali an idea. Which may be the most stupid idea he had all day. But he, for an inexplicable reason, feels like he has to know. Needs to know. It would be far from the first time he sensed when Jimmy was upset about something, he tries to justify it to himself.

And besides … _he_ definitely has a question burning on his mind. Granted, he isn’t sure if he wants to hear the answer, but, if their friendship is still as strong as it used to be before … stuff … he knows he needs to ask.

So, while everyone stretches out on their towels (Joe spooning Jos, of course), Ali sneaks up behind Jimmy and taps him on the top of his right shoulder. “Jim? Want to go for a walk?”

Jimmy flinches. And laughs softly. “I missed that.” he says. “Been ages since you did that.”

“Always glad to meet people’s expectations.” Ali retorts, matching Jimmy’s smile. “So?”

“Course.” Jimmy scrambles to his feet and (to Ali’s disappointment) puts his T-Shirt back on. “Where are we off to?” he asks, looking for his sunglasses.

“In that direction? Remember, there’s that amazing coconut palm forest we found last time.” Ali suggests.

Jimmy cleans his sunglasses and slips them on his nose. “How could I forget. Can you believe that’s already 11 years? Since that happened?” he asks while they set off, leaving their shoes next to Jimmy’s towel. Ali laughs. “I know. We had a lot to learn, back then.” he says nostalgically.

“We? That’s giving my bowling more credit than it deserved, back then. I was nowhere near as consistent. Not like you.” There is a hint of a blush on Jimmy’s cheeks.

Ali’s body tingles at the sight. “Thanks. I … guess I really only became satisfied with my approach when … I think…” “Go on?” Jimmy asks. “I always wanted to know that.”

“During the 2010 Ashes. Brisbane, to be precise.” Ali says, confirming Jimmy’s suspicions.

They share a long look. Remember the dramatic draw they escaped the notorious Gabba with.

And everything else that followed.

“Glorious seven weeks.” Jimmy smiles reminiscently. “Best Boxing Day Test they ever had.”

Ali laughs. “One of the best I ever played in. Thanks to you.”

Comfortable silence settles on them as they continue their walk along the seashore, occasionally stopped by Jimmy picking up a colourful seashell and showing it to Ali. Watch the birds circling overhead, try and fail to recall anything Straussy (who always made it a point to learn about local wildlife) told them about it – “maybe he’s still got his book though, I wouldn’t mind seeing it again”.

In the shade of a coconut palm, while they cool their feet in a little stream, Ali finally gathers his courage. Clenches his fists, unclenches them again. And looks at Jimmy. Tries to focus while he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. _I’m JUST asking as his mate. Friends talk about that._

“You okay, Ali?” Jimmy asks and takes a step in his direction.

“Jim … it’s nothing you have to answer if you don’t want, after all we agreed to … in September … and it was … either way, there’s something I…” With an annoyed grunt, Ali trails off. Bites his lower lip and tries again.

“Jim.” His voice is small, a bit anxious. “Is there … has there been anyone else since?”

Jimmy startles. Stares at Ali. “What’s brought this on?” he asks a bit hoarsely.

“Nothing. It’s just … half a year and I …. I’m gonna shut up.” Ali mumbles.

Jimmy laughs. “No. Nobody. Didn’t have … absolutely nobody.” he confirms with a shy smile.

A weight drops from Ali’s shoulders.

And then, weirdly, he sees Jimmy’s eyes asking him the exact same question.

_What’s got into him? He never used to be insecure when it came to …_

Ali shakes his head. “Absolutely nobody.” he says softly.

Jimmy beams at him. “Fine … I mean, let’s continue.” he suggests in an odd voice.

Ali feels considerably lighter. Confused, but lighter.

_At least we’re definitely still … best friends. For nearly 13 years._

_That’s worth a lot as well._


	5. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World Cup has finally begun and Jimmy has an appointment in London, at BBC Radio Five, unusually early on a Saturday morning (the things you do for your mates).  
While he is trying to figure out what ungodly time he needs to set his alarm to, he gets a sudden invitation from the east of the country.  
Just an ordinary evening at his best mate's place, right.... right?

_Two and a half hours._

_That means, if I want to get ready … I have to leave by 6 am tomorrow morning. Jesus fucking Christ, that’s brutal for a Saturday. Especially when we don’t have a game. Does Greg know what he’s getting me into? I could easily …._

_No, stop it, James, you’re being unfair. Also, don’t pretend you weren’t excited when Sharky sent you that e-mail. Live on air, every Saturday – or Sunday – on actual Five Live Sports, during the World Cup. That IS brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant. And …_

_was that my phone?_

Jimmy jumps to his feet and nearly drops his laptop on the floor. With an annoyed sigh, he catches it (it’s getting rather warm, maybe he should get it looked at) before it can hit his foot, places it gently on the couch next to his spot (Jos was right, the couch is completely worn down in that particular area) and sprints out of the living room, but before he even reaches the glass door leading to his kitchen, his ringtone stops. Followed by the message alert telling him he’s probably got a voicemail.

Having skidded to a halt (which hurts when you’re not wearing socks), Jimmy sighs. Leans against the cool glass pane and catches his breath, beginning to get exasperated with himself.

_You aren’t 17 anymore. What on earth makes you think that was him. And even if it was, which it wasn’t, what on earth still hasn’t got through to you. He’s your best mate, just your best mate, not someone that should get you to act like a fucking teenage boy. He DOES NOT LIKE YOU LIKE THAT._

_Thanks a bunch Broady. That stupid series you recommended. I like it a bit too much for my taste. Fuck I even sound like one of those insipid kids and…_

_But it could have been him. He’s home after all and…_

_Will you just go and have a look?_

Jimmy sighs again and opens the kitchen door.

A flashing white light on his phone, lying on the counter where he left it while he tidied up after lunch, tells him he has got at least two different notifications. Could also be the lads, true. Matt insisted on “the old guard”, as he calls it, getting tickets to at least one England game at the World Cup and …

Jimmy unlocks his phone. His heart immediately begins to pound as three familiar letters stare back at him from the screen. _That DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING, _the rational part of his mind points out in that sort of tone that usually accompanies a facepalm (Jimmy’s “Swanny you’re being obnoxious” – tone, basically).

**1 missed call from: Ali.**

And also, a message on WhatsApp. A photo?

Jimmy opens it with a quick swipe. Smiles as he sees two brown eggs on a plate. And can hardly believe the text that goes with it:

**just had an idea on my way back from my parents. got enough eggs to last me two weeks, our hens are really doing great. not the point right now. you said you need to be at bbc radio something by nine, right? want to spend the night at my place in Chelmsford? you could have a lie-in. sort of. ;)**

Jimmy’s knees feel weak. He grabs the handle on the drawer to his right with both hands, steadies himself. Reads the message over and over again, wonders if he should punch himself. Or something like that. Anything to make sure this isn’t an elaborate dream, one of the many, too many, he’s been having since February. Because Ali can’t mean that, right? He can’t …

WhatsApp “pings” again.

**give it some thought. I could make scrambled eggs for us though. ;)**

Jimmy’s cheeks heat up. Scrambled eggs. _Ali’s_ scrambled eggs. Has to be ten months since he last had this most simple of breakfast staples, which, in _his_ capable hands, always turned into something spectacular. But then, as Ali put it one October morning nearly six years ago, while they were finishing off the last bites of a particularly good combination – scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and chives – “we rarely get this much time with each other, so we might as well honour the occasion.”

For ten years, scrambled eggs were their breakfast of choice, on those rare weekends when they had enough time on their hands. Weekends which had their own certain routine. They took turns, spent one weekend in Manchester, the following (which, to their shared disappointment, very often wouldn’t happen until several weeks had passed) in Chelmsford. Met up at the train station, had dinner (Jimmy always made sure to surprise Ali – that Georgian restaurant they went to on the Saturday before Easter in 2011 was a prime example, Jimmy can still hear Ali’s laugh as their giant flatbreads with eggs and cheese arrived) and then, after filling up on groceries and a few snacks, went home.

And … somethings happened. A lot of somethings.

They always knew how to use their time well, on those weekends.

So, what on earth prompted Ali to bring this up again? It has been nine months after all. Nine months, two tours, one dead cat, countless long and sleepless nights – and no sign whatsoever that things could ever … reignite between them. For want of a better word.

“We made our choice.” Jimmy says and hears the disappointment in his own voice. “We agreed, we’ve both moved on, he was probably just being nostalgic. He knows how much I like scrambled eggs, after all.” Sighing deeply, he takes a glass from the cupboard above his head, fills it with tap water, takes a long gulp.

Should he say yes? What if …?

Bollocks. This isn’t a romantic comedy after all. This is just his closest friend being nice to him and…

Jimmy puts the glass down and picks his phone up again. With unsteady fingers, he types:

**thanks for the offer cooky, you just saved me 50 quid. I’ll pack up. be at yours by 8ish. anything I should bring with me?**

It takes less than a minute for Ali to reply (which is completely unusual):

**still got that sci-fi-book you told me about last week? would love to read it.**

Jimmy laughs, surprised. Retirement _has_ changed his best friend. Only a year ago, you would never have caught Ali with a book, a habit he carried over from his days as captain. When exhaustion, tension and (far too often) worries kept Ali too busy to read anything. Anything that wasn’t directly related to the series they were preparing for or to potential new players for the test side.

But, as he told Jimmy last Monday in Loughborough, since September, he has been making up for lost time. Has discovered new authors, new genres, is even (_bless him, he doesn’t know what he’s in for_) trying to catch up with “Harry Potter”.

Jimmy can still see Ali’s excited grin while they discussed the (really brilliant, Jimmy has to admit) finale to “Prisoner of Azkaban”. And Ali’s wide eyes when Jimmy punched his arm and, in an ominous voice, told him “absolutely not, that would ruin the next two books for you”.

_Ali has always been particularly lovely when he’s excited. It’s such a rare sight and …_

_ text him back, you soppy idiot. Text him back, get your suitcase ready, don’t forget the sunglasses you told Matt he could try out, as well as “Leviathan Awakes” for Ali and then off with you. No time for daydreaming._

**course, dane gave it back to me on Monday. curious to hear what you’ll make of it.**

**thanks, I’m excited :) see you soon.**

Jimmy shoves his phone down the front pocket of his jeans, finishes the glass of water and looks out of the window. For once, the gloriously nice spring weather matches his mood.

With something that could almost be a grin, he turns around. “Let’s get going, you idiot.” he tells himself and leaves the kitchen.

Today, Jimmy is almost glad that the car journey to Ali’s cottage on the eastern end of Chelmsford takes as long as it does. Because, as soon as he put his suitcase on the back seat and sat down, put Ali’s address into his new satnav, the nerves hit him like a bouncer.

_I should stop denying it to myself. I’ve got feelings for him. He’s never gonna find out obviously. But that doesn’t change the fact that I … as much as I don’t want to._

So? That shouldn’t stop him from having a nice evening with his best friend, should it?

Evenings that have become quite frequent in the last three months. Unusually frequent. And have, a while ago, become longer and longer, turned into spontaneous breakfast invitations, afternoons on one of their favourite golf courses and – Jimmy will never live this down with his county teammates – a surprise visit on the first day of Lancashire’s recent game against Worcestershire.

Jimmy spotted _him_ the moment he finished his warm-up, when Dane had called everyone in for his customary last-minute tactics discussion. It had caught Jimmy so much off guard that he stumbled and bumped into Keats, head first (just to make it even more embarrassing). The laughter of his teammates had stayed with him for the first two sessions. Even Glen hadn’t held back (and Glen is always completely focused before a game begins).

They just didn’t get it, did they? The lads didn’t have a single fucking clue what Jimmy was going through, trying to get himself switched-on because they’d decided to start the game on the field … only to be greeted by _that smile, _accompanied by a shy wave, when he least expected it. _He_ had to have got out of bed at an unreasonable hour, not that you could see it of course because he looked gorgeously put-together as usual, in his very old black jeans and a white polo shirt which just so happened to show off his amazing arms and ….

Jimmy looks up and curses. Trust him to get so completely side-tracked that he nearly missed the correct exit for Chelmsford. Well, that was what you got for being a soppy idiot with the worst timing on earth and ….

Jimmy hits the brakes and slowly navigates his car off the motorway.

Smiles as he realises just how familiar he has become with this part of the country. Followed by an internal cringe, because of course his stupid brain has to remind him of the very first time he visited Ali’s parents’ farm and almost ran away from a cow (not a cow, an ox, the part of his mind that always sounds like _him_ replies). _I’ve learned to like it, though. Because you like it this much and … oh, there we are. That was fast. Unfortunately. But … I can’t wait to see him again._

Smiling (and hopefully not blushing too fiercely), Jimmy parks the car, throws his jacket on, fishes the suitcase and Ali’s book out from the back seat and gets out.

Stops to ruffle Ali’s German Shepherd’s fur, laughs as the young dog, lounging in the evening sunshine underneath a hazelnut bush, licks his hand. “Hello Dog.” he says, grinning – because was that really the best name Ali could have come up with? but it weirdly fits him. “Sorry, don’t have any treats for you, I’ll bring you some biscuits next time.”

It takes Ali surprisingly long to open the door. Which, to Jimmy’s hopefully not too manifest annoyance, doesn’t diminish the effect he has on Jimmy at all. On the contrary.

Ali, casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that can’t possibly be the one Swanny got for the three of them during the 2013 Ashes because how on earth can he still fit into it, greets Jimmy with a shy but happy smile. “That’s a new record, right?” he laughs.

“Caught it at a good time. Hardly any traffic going this way on a Friday afternoon.” Jimmy replies, sounding as relaxed as he doesn’t feel.

There is a brief awkward moment as they both try to figure out what to do next. For the last nine months, greetings have become more complicated than they should be between friends of over a decade and …

_Oh. We … oh that feels amazing and…_

Jimmy closes his eyes while he returns the hug. The _very long _hug, in fact. Hopes Ali can’t feel his heart pound, tries not to inhale too deeply because that was his favourite shower gel and…

Ali looks at him again. With a stunning crimson colour on his cheeks. “Missed you. You hungry?” he asks, accompanied by a shy laugh.

Jimmy looks over his shoulder. “You bet. Smells nice, what have you done?” And then he remembers. “Seriously?” he says and gives Ali a playful punch on the shoulder. “Today? You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.” Ali replies with a grin and lets Jimmy into the house. “A new idea. Joe got me this delicious Cheddar with chilies last time I was at their place in Leeds. And it goes amazingly well with scrambled eggs. Also…” Ali winks at Jimmy. “It fits. For your Saturday plans.”

Jimmy laughs. Feels more pleased than he thought he would. “Bit spicy that? Don’t tell me you’re all caught up with my podcast now?” “Many times over and I love it.” Ali smiles and stops. “Think that was one of the timers in the kitchen. Our tea’s ready. Go make yourself comfortable, I’ll bring everything out in a minute.”

Jimmy is left staring after him, the obvious (but potentially hazardous) question – “so what did you think of the tribute we made for you?” – dying on his lips. Which is probably for the best, he thinks and sighs.

Ali carries two steaming hot plates into the living room and they, as they always used to do on those weekends (stop it Jim or he’s gonna notice where your mind went and that’s… stop. now), settle on the couch. “Careful, it is really more than just a bit spicy.” Ali says, laughing and leaning back in his seat. “Want to watch something on telly?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Your choice. Unless you … Broady recommended this rather good but cheesy comedy on Netflix. Think it would be up your alley as well, want to give it a try?”

“Sure.” Ali smiles, helps himself to a forkful of scrambled eggs, winces as the chilies hit his nostrils and looks at Jimmy again. Who, suddenly, becomes uncomfortably aware how close they are sitting and…

“So Jim?” Ali says, sounding like he can barely suppress a laugh. “About this Matt guy. Or Mattchin as you call him. Do you honestly believe he’s related to _the_ Sachin Tendulkar?”

Jimmy grins (and breathes a sigh of relief, that is a safe territory after all). “I dunno, he just might be. He’s really that funny, honestly. I don’t know how he comes up with half the things he does…”

And with that, they’re into their usual evening routine. Finish their dinner, spend some time playing with Dog who let himself into the house as soon as the sun set, watch a few episodes of the series on Netflix, chat and laugh. Just an ordinary evening between two best mates.

If it wasn’t for the many odd moments in between. Moments when Jimmy caught Ali sneaking a glance at him while they were both focused on the TV. It was only for a few seconds, but it always seemed to bring a shine to Ali’s eyes. Or, while they were playing fetch with Dog and his favourite ball and Ali, every so often, accidentally brushed against Jimmy’s arm or side. And the many unusual _cute_ giggles.

Jimmy looks at his watch. “I think I’d better go to bed now. I do have to be out of here by seven thirty.” he says and knows Ali has picked up on the disappointment in his voice.

Ali smiles. “Sensible, Jim. I’ve…,” he blushes fiercely and bites his lip. “I’ve already got your bed ready. I … Anyway, you know you can help yourself to anything in the en suite and … sweet dreams.” he adds with another smile that wakes up the butterflies in Jimmy’s belly.

_And I really thought, for a second, that he… no. That’s over. Has been over for nine months._

Jimmy gets ready for bed. Has a last look at his phone before he settles down on the comfortable mattress. Can hear Ali talking quietly in the other bedroom on his right side (probably speaking to that pest of a captain, Jimmy thinks with a fond grin).

**1 unread message from: Broady.**

_Of course, _Jimmy sighs affectionately. Still, it was probably a wise choice, to let his best friend in on that entire emotional mess and …

**don’t text me back if anything’s actually happening. just curious how you are… ;-)**

Jimmy sighs. **just a nice evening. retirement suits him.**

**oh jim I’m sorry. still, plenty of opportunities this summer, you never know…**

_You and your perennial optimism, _Jimmy sighs again and switches his light off.

After a quick breakfast (Ali knows him too well, there was a bowl of cereals, some apples and maple syrup already waiting on a plate in the kitchen for him, together with a note saying **I hope this hasn’t changed :) **) , Jimmy lets Dog out of the house and looks at his watch. Still some time left before he needs to hit the road again, he …

Unbidden, and before he notices, his feet carry him to Ali’s bedroom. Feels like a right idiot. _You’re being a creep, as Ruby would say. My niece knows a little too much about these things, for a ten-year-old. You really should …_

The door is open. Sunlight streams in through the orange curtains, illuminates the sleeping figure on the bed. And Jimmy can’t help himself. Has to look.

Has to look. Can’t look away.

From the amazingly beautiful young man in the middle of the bed, curled onto his left side as per usual, fast asleep (Jimmy feels shivers running down his spine as he hears Ali’s quiet breaths). With a smile on his face that makes him look at least eleven years younger. Like he did on that summer’s afternoon in Wellington when Jimmy … _saw him _for the first time. When it all began.

Longing. Not just desire, not just attraction, to this ridiculously beautiful man, but longing.

One painful, chest-constricting, whirlwind-of-butterflies-producing reminder of Why.

Why it never really stopped, even after they decided to end things. Why Jimmy will never be able to see him as just him. Just his best friend. Just his rock of thirteen years and … A lump forms in Jimmy’s throat.

He keeps on looking down at Ali’s sleeping figure, feels his heart race, wants nothing more than to lie down next to him, take him into his arms, hold him and get that surprised cute smile as reward when Ali wakes up in his arms. Hold him and kiss him and … _fuck I need to get going._

Another idea hits Jimmy while he blinks away the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

He hurries into the kitchen, gets a pen and a sheet of paper from Ali’s note box. Leans against the wall, takes a few deep breaths before he accidentally writes what he wants to (no, he’s not gonna say those three words to him, not ever, not even as a joke, it would spell the end of their friendship).

And writes:

**That was a fantastic evening. Really missed doing this with you. Thanks for the delicious scrambled eggs and the cereal (yes, I still take it that way) :) Hope you’ve got the radio on at 9 am! Can’t wait to hear what you think of our first ever live broadcast.**

**Have a lovely day and see you very soon (you’re welcome to do this as well if you’re up north),**

**Jim.**

**PS: have you found a fountain of youth or something? If yes, let me in on it please.**

He gently places the note on Ali’s bedside table, along with the book Ali requested, takes a last painful look at Ali’s cute sleeping face, and closes the door quietly.

On to London. To the most unlikely mates he ever thought he would have.

Not such a bad Saturday, after all.


	6. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 5.  
As the World Cup goes on, weekends, unplanned, turn into Thursdays.  
Every Thursday. Without fail.  
Until, on the last week of the group stage, one of those Thursdays, or rather a Friday morning ... brings on a big surprise for Ali and Jimmy.

Ali is dreaming.

Ali has to be dreaming, right now. That makes sense. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Because there is no way this is happening. There is just no way. That can’t be … a hand. And definitely not his hand. Five warm, very unsteady fingers, gently cupping Ali’s cheek, holding him as if their owner is not sure he is allowed to do this right now. To hold Ali like he is about to pull him into his arms and …

_I’ve had this dream before. Several times. It’s just a dream, this can’t … was that a laugh?_

Something constricts Ali’s throat. Heart pounding painfully in his ears, his cheeks beginning to heat up with a mixture of embarrassment and … excitement (why?), he does not know what to do. Does not know whether he wants to open his eyes (and inevitably find the large – too large – space on the mattress next to him as empty as it has been for almost exactly ten months) or will himself to let go of this dream. To fall completely asleep, to stop indulging in this impossible fantasy and to forget it all when he does wake up again and …

_But someone is watching me right now._

Unbidden, his eyes flicker open.

A scent – a mixture of lavender, rosemary and something that could very well be cinnamon – tickles his nostrils. He freezes. Instantly recognises that particular combination. Shower gel. Ordinary shower gel, something you can get pretty much anywhere on the planet. Not particularly fancy …

but for Ali, it carries so many memories. Memories of nights in swanky hotel rooms, frenzied and excited stolen moments in corridors, corners, supply closets and, on one terrifyingly exciting afternoon, even in the away changing room at the Oval. Memories of hugs on the field that always went on a second longer than they needed to, hugs that sometimes, when things were going extremely well, included a shy, almost teenage-ish giggle and a whispered promise of “we’ll celebrate later”.

In short…a scent that takes Ali … home.

But that isn’t. That can’t. After all, he saw Jimmy last night. Jimmy’s face, to be precise, looking down at Ali from the doorway of his spare bedroom, telling him to “sleep tight, I’ll make French toast in the morning”. With a cute smile. And eyes that lingered on Ali’s face longer than they needed to and …

Eyes. There are eyes. A pair of familiar, hazel brown eyes, looking stern as soon as you saw them on the other side of the boundary rope. Downright intimidating, if you’d ask an opposing batsman. Who, very often, saw these eyes focus on him intensely, seconds before a red leather ball was hurled down the wicket with a breath-taking natural ease.

Eyes, that, off the field, were, and still are, completely different. Sparkling with mischief when Joe teases him, shining with pride whenever Broady does something remarkable (Jimmy, at least in Ali’s memory, never looked more lovely than he did on that magical morning at Trent Bridge, after Stuart bowled the spell of a lifetime and they had the Australians all out for 60 before lunch. The moment Jimmy and Stuart met again after Stuart’s unbelievable eight-for will stay in Ali’s memory. Not just because it hit Stuart what he had done. But, even more so, for the affectionate proud beaming smile Jimmy greeted his best friend with). Eyes that can be shy and sheepish one second and then glinting the next.

And these eyes are … Ali blinks … looking at him right now. With an expression that makes Ali’s breath catch in his throat. Hard to define. Nothing he has ever seen from Jimmy before.

Equal parts insecure, warm and … something Ali can’t quite place. Does not want to put a name to right now. Because that can’t be happening and …

There still is a hand on Ali’s cheek. A hand, that now, almost in slow-motion, begins to stroke him.

And … another hand takes Ali’s left hand where it is lying, on the mattress, having escaped from the thin linen blanket with its yellow cover. Holds it. Does not dare do anything else.

Ali can’t breathe. Can’t believe it. Does not want to move in case that makes him wake up properly. In case this is all over as soon as he does anything.

“Morning beautiful.” Jimmy says in a low voice. Immediately realises what he is doing and – something Ali has only seen a handful of times from him – blushes. Lets go of Ali’s hand again. Looks sheepish. Beyond sheepish. As if he has acted on impulse and is now beginning to regret it.

“Jim?” Ali can only whisper. “How did you … I thought I saw you go to bed?”

The fire on his cheeks begins to spread into the rest of his body.

“I know!” Jimmy sounds like he wants the earth to swallow him this very instant. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry...” he mumbles. Reaches up, scratches himself behind his ear (_he looks unbelievably cute_). Struggles to find the right words.

Ali simply looks at him. Does not know what to think. Does not want to follow a voice screaming at him at the back of his mind, telling him to _get it, fuckssake, there’s something important going on right now!_ Resigns himself to watch, with bated breath, while Jimmy tries to make sense of his thoughts.

How did they end up here? Was there anything in the evening that could have alerted Ali? That could have given him a hint that this was different? Ali racks his brains, closes his eyes (knows from experience that that usually helps Jimmy settle when he’s feeling anxious and embarrassed). Tries to go over the events of the previous night.

Which began, as Thursday nights in the last three weeks always did, at Manchester Piccadilly, in the station hall. Jimmy, having been to the barbershop in his suburb just two days ago, greeted Ali with a box of donuts, an unusually shy smile and something Ali had not seen on him for a good while – his old leather jacket. One of the jackets from his own clothesline, Ali remembered with a fond grin when he saw Jimmy give him a wave from around the corner of WH Smith’s.

True, their hug lasted a bit longer than usual (then again, Ali can’t remember ever getting so many hugs from Jimmy as he did over the last six months). And maybe there was an interesting shy smile on Jimmy’s face when he noticed Ali’s very recent suntan. And maybe, there was a brief moment when they left the train station and looked for Jimmy’s car, where Jimmy’s hand accidentally brushed against Ali’s, and Ali, for a second, thought Jimmy was going to take his hand and hold it.

But that wasn’t unusual. Not for the last three weeks anyway.

And certainly not before that, during one of “their weekends”, when excitement ahead of rare, undisturbed 48 hours with each other, usually led them to be a little more daring, a little more open in public. Had even led them to a passionate long kiss one Saturday night in Chelmsford, as soon as they had gotten out of the taxi that had brought them home. For a few terrifying and weirdly thrilling seconds, Ali thought his next-door neighbour, who, as a former GCHQ official hardly ever slept during the night, had spotted them. Until Jimmy gave him another kiss and, with a gentle shove, turned them towards the house.

And if Mr. Stevens had in fact seen anything on that night in January, he was too polite to mention it.

Ali shakes his head, tries to get his mind to focus again. Which isn’t something he usually has trouble with. Certainly not on a cricket field. Or when he’s being asked to sort out a tactical problem. But … Jimmy is holding his hand again. Which Ali is all too aware of. Making it nearly impossible to …

Maybe Ali should have seen it twelve (if that’s what the time is right now, Ali can’t tell for the life of him) hours ago when they were preparing a giant bowl of salad in Jimmy’s kitchen. While they were cutting vegetables and halloumi cheese, frying wholemeal bread in oil and – as per usual – squabbling over the correct vinegar-to-oil ratio in the salad dressing, Jimmy kept smiling at Ali. Smiling, looking away and looking back. Also with, once, a cute giggle that would have melted Ali right there and then. And there was, Ali reflects, an unusual amount of occasions in which Jimmy absolutely needed to get something from the cupboard above Ali’s head, occasions in which Jimmy had to lean over him and…

_And then, on the couch …his knee was touching mine. During the entire film (and that’s saying something, Fellowship of the Ring is more than 3 hours long). I must have dozed off right towards the end though. As usual. Because I remember Boromir’s death and then … the next thing I remember, there is an arm around my shoulders, his arm, and he is shaking me awake as gently as he can and he’s … was he blushing? But why would he have … why is he … unless he…_

In a second, a heartbeat (or maybe three, Ali can’t tell), an unbelievable, exciting, earth-shattering, almost too-good-to-be true-instant, everything suddenly makes sense to Ali.

_No way._

He opens his eyes again.

A breathtakingly handsome shy smile greets him. Eyes, with the slightest hint of anxiety, trail over his face, seem to observe him as if they have never seen him before. And now, a finger caresses Ali’s hand. A leg, warm in the morning sun, presses against Ali’s. A familiar sensation. And yet … new.

_Four years. Four years since that night in Barbados. Four years in which I, not even once, dared to say it out loud in front of him. Convinced myself that it would ruin everything. That I would ruin everything by bringing feelings into something that wasn’t supposed to … And I never thought he would feel the same. Never. I …_

Jimmy’s hand, still clasping Ali’s, begins to tremble slightly. Ali gives him a reassuring squeeze. His mind has completely gone blank. All plans for the day, all thoughts, all insecurity, have disappeared. Nothing seems to matter right now. Nothing … except for this incredible discovery. This greatest and most unfulfilled of Ali’s wishes, coming true at long last.

“Ali.” Jimmy says and sounds like he is on the verge of tears. Tries, several times, to find the right words, breaks off with an annoyed shaky sigh. Looks at Ali again, blinking rapidly, his eyes conveying the message he, for fear of Ali’s reaction, can not bring himself to speak out loud.

Ali inches closer to Jimmy.

Takes his free hand, cups Jimmy’s (equally as) crimson cheek with it.

There are no words. He does not need words. He can see it in the way Jimmy’s eyes become wider and wider, in the ghost of a smile playing on Jimmy’s lips. Can feel it in Jimmy’s violently trembling hand.

He does not need words.

Only one. Which maybe has been obvious all along.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Jimmy echoes, in a tone Ali has hardly ever heard him use. Nervous, disbelieving, emotional, and … happy. Happier than most people who don’t know Jimmy would think him capable of.

Ali feels himself melt. Feels a laugh threaten to break out. Caresses Jimmy’s cheek.

“Yes.” he repeats again.

Jimmy beams.

They look at each other. As if they have never seen each other before.

And in a way, they haven’t. Not like this, anyway.

For a few seconds, Ali does not move.

Tries to take it all in.

_I wish this moment could last forever._

A very soft laugh makes Ali shiver.

“I … do you want me to kiss you right now? I know that’s bollocks, we’ve done this before and…”

And now, Ali finally laughs in earnest. Can’t help himself.

“Shut up, Jim. You’re ruining it. Shut up and kiss me.” he whispers.

Jimmy snakes his arm around Ali’s shoulders, brings their clasped hands up from the mattress, gives Ali’s hand another squeeze, slings his other arm around Ali’s waist and pulls him into a fierce embrace.

Ali closes his eyes. Feels Jimmy’s heart race as he leans forward and … “ow.”

Jimmy’s eyes fly open at the same time as Ali’s. “Oh fuckssake I’m sorry.” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I … was too excited and I couldn’t…”

Laughing, Ali gives him a slap on the hip. “You bit me! What are you, 12?” he says, squeezing a very sheepish looking Jimmy’s arm. “Come here. Let me show you.”

Soft lips (curling upwards in something that has to be a beaming smile) brush against Ali’s. Ali wraps his arm around Jimmy’s waist, lets his free hand trail to Jimmy’s chest, closes his eyes again.

And leans in.

It is far from their first kiss. It must be close to their 50.000th, at least (one particularly long night in Sri Lanka, Jimmy tried to count every single one of their kisses, in an attempt to get Ali to think about something else. Unknown to Jimmy, Ali has been keeping up the count ever since).

But somehow, as Jimmy’s tongue slips into Ali’s mouth, almost in slow motion, as Ali feels Jimmy’s heart race under his hand, as Jimmy holds Ali’s shoulders as if his life depends on it, somehow, in a way they can’t describe, it feels like their first kiss all over again.

With exactly the same kind of magic of that very first night, eleven years and four months ago. But … different. There is something new. Something, which, maybe, has been hidden in plain sight all along.

Ali does not care.

Breathless, laughing, with flushed cheeks, he breaks their kiss after an eternity.

Sees Jimmy look at him with an emotional smile.

“I could have just asked.” Jimmy mumbles. “I could have … I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Ali replies. “I never thought you’d feel this way about me and …”

“I’m going to kiss you again.” Jimmy says in a low, deep voice, his eyes glinting.

A considerable amount of time later, Ali’s right arm feels like it is about to go dead any second. Cursing slightly, he sits up as slowly as he can, tries to pull his fingers out from the mattress under Jimmy, who has curled into his side, his eyes closed, a peaceful joyful smile on his face.

Ali shakes his fingers awake and shudders as a thousand pins and needles shoot through him. Grinning, he looks at Jimmy. Reaches downward with his left hand and tickles Jimmy’s side.

“Oi!” Jimmy wakes up with a start, followed by a growl which immediately dissolves into a laugh. “You cheeky little shit. That pest is rubbing off on you,” he complains half-earnestly and plants a kiss on Ali’s collarbone that sends shockwaves down Ali’s side.

“Speaking of,” Ali meets Jimmy’s eyes, “are we going to tell them?”

“What?” Jimmy feigns ignorance.

“About… that.” Ali says with a shy smile.

“No.” Jimmy replies instantly. “Absolutely not. I want to enjoy … us… in peace. For a few weeks at least.”

“Fine.” Ali smiles and kisses Jimmy’s temple.

His stomach decides to use exactly that moment to remind him he hasn’t eaten since dinner (14 hours ago? Who knows, by now). Jimmy smiles and pats Ali. “What do you want for breakfast? I’ll do it. You stay exactly where you are.”

Ali gives it some thought. “Surprise me. But … no scrambled eggs.”

_This is a different morning. We are different now._

The beaming grin on Jimmy’s face tells Ali he has had exactly the same thought.

“Fine. I’ve got this recipe of Jos’ that I’ve been wanting to try out for ages.” he says, getting out of bed and wrapping himself in his bathrobe.

“Does it have anything to do with apples?” Ali laughs.

“How could you tell.” Jimmy feigns surprise. “Still got some from September.”

“And what are we going to do afterwards?” Ali asks, sitting up and drawing the blanket up to his face – which earns him a hilarious mixture of a pout, a fond grin and a laugh.

Jimmy softens.

“Yes?” Ali asks quietly.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. I … volunteered at the RSPCA a couple of times in spring. And I … I think it’s time I looked for a cat again. But I want to do that with you.” Jimmy answers in a shy voice.

“I’d love to, Jim.” Ali smiles.

Settles into bed, watches Jimmy leave the room with a spring in his step.

Lets out a long breath. Feels happiness settle into every fibre of his being.

And suddenly, there is a song at the back of his mind. One of the songs Joe loves to play on his guitar. Strangely fitting, today.

_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view_

_We'll live a long life_

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_

_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_

_But I will hold as long as you like_

_Just promise me we'll be alright_

_And we are. _

_More than alright._

This is, by far, the best day of the year.

If not, the best day of Ali’s life.


	7. August 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 25, 2019.  
The last day of the third Ashes test at Headingley. A game everyone thought they had lost ... until the last, almost magical, thirty minutes.  
What better day to tell everyone about your new relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For it is decreed that every romance story needs a soppy ending. And they don't get soppier than this day.

_How are you holding up, up there?_

Jimmy’s left hand feels like it has turned to ice. Nauseous, shivering, he tucks it under his armpit, folds his arms across his chest, takes several deep breaths, tries to steady himself.

Can’t help but sneak another glance in the direction of the TMS box, a story above his head. Wonders. Genuinely wonders. If the entire England changing room has been in a state of panic for the last sixty minutes, how is their former captain – his _boyfriend_, he reminds himself and a whirlwind of butterflies dances across his stomach at the thought – dealing with it all? With this unbelievably tense finish to a game everyone already declared lost?

At least, Jimmy tells himself, looking across the physiotherapist’s room at Stuart, who has slumped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, trembling, at least they all have each other. Nobody will judge them if they curse, yell, shout, break something, or perhaps (going by the state their captain has been in since the seventh wicket fell) burst into tears.

Ali … has to be objective. He is live on air, after all. With Aggers (who won’t judge him, after all Jimmy remembers Aggers in tears as the third umpire confirmed Martin Guptill was run out at the end of the World Cup final) and Glen bloody Mc Grath. Granted, there are worse Australians to be on comms with, but how nice is he going to be?

_I’d want to be bowling, if I was him._ _I’d want to take command of the field, set everything up … they just need one wicket, one wicket and they …_

“NO!” Stuart is on the verge of tears. Stares at the pitch, trembling violently. “Leachy what the fuck…”

Jimmy follows the ball with his eyes. Pat Cummins has good aim, he can (unfortunately) speak from experience. _He’s either going for a direct hit or …_

Nathan Lyon … drops the ball.

Stuart, pale, wide-eyed, stares at Jimmy. “How many fucking chances does he need?” he asks incredulous. “That’s…”

“Don’t.” Jimmy cautions him. Clenches his hands. Cannot, for the life of him, think straight. Feels like he consists of goose bumps and nausea. _I don’t believe it. I …_

_Wish you were here right now._

“We’re going to do this.” Jimmy remembers Ali say an hour before the day’s play began, in a dark corner of the showers at Headingley. Remembers the conviction in Ali’s voice, remembers being surprised by it. “What makes you think that?” he asked with a smile, stroking Ali’s cheek.

“Joey.” Ali replied warmly. “He sounded really good before. Said they have a clear plan and that Stokesy knows exactly what he’s doing. And that I – the nerve of him – “should stop being as worried and negative as Vaughany”.

Jimmy laughed at that. “Cheeky little shit. Still, that’s good. Much better than he was on Friday.”

“I know.” Ali sighed and looked at his watch. “Shit, Aggers is waiting. I’ll see you during lunch.”

With a long kiss (and stifled giggles, because the entire scenario made them feel like teenagers all over again), Ali said goodbye, adjusted his shirt (“let’s hope nobody knows there’s a button missing” he said with a stern look that immediately gave way to a grin) and hurried out of the shower area.

“I’m going…” Jimmy starts, but Stuart stops him with an outstretched hand. “No. Do Not Move. Remember what Matt always said? Don’t disturb the air. Or do you want to be the one to …”

“Okay okay, fine.” Jimmy laughs and settles back into his uneasy crouch at the wall.

Looks out of the window at the packed stands. Tries to recall where Greg, Felix and Matt were sitting, wonders what Matt makes of all the incredible drama he has seen this summer. _Couldn’t have picked a better time to fall in love with the game, _Jimmy thinks fondly. _As long as you don’t expect all test matches to be this tense._

Whatever happens, if Stokesy and Leachy see it through to the end or not, Jimmy is going to meet them for a drink afterwards. Or six. Depending on everyone’s nerves. And … it’s not like they haven’t met Ali before, they certainly know who he is … but what better day to do this, than today?

_I hope they feel honoured. They’re gonna be the first of my friends to know… he’s my boyfriend._

“What sort of a review was that?” Stuart leans out of the window. “Even I saw that wasn’t out!”

“Not every team gets a captain who’s good at DRS.” Jimmy says and rolls his eyes at Stuart’s expression. “I know, don’t tell him I was being nice to him.” he adds, trying to save face.

“You could just admit you actually like each other.” Stuart shakes his head. “Anyway, that… the fuck are you appealing for, Aussies? That missed the wickets! And …”

“I know.” Jimmy’s voice begins to shake. “I know. It’s just two runs and …”

“If they throw bouncers at Leachy now, there will be hell to pay.” Stuart says determinedly.

In silence, disbelief and with hearts pounding in their chests, Stuart and Jimmy watch. Breathe a sigh of relief as Jack ducks under a bouncer. As he has done for the last 14 … or was it 16, now … balls.

And then, barely a minute later … “YES!” Stuart’s voice breaks. With his eyes swimming in tears, he looks at his best friend. “Well done Leachy, well done! He’s off the mark and now … and now…”

“I know.” Jimmy whispers. “I know. If there’s anyone who can do it….”

A ball comes hurtling down the wicket. _Good ball, Cummins. As per usual._

Ben reacts in a split second. Hits it exactly like he is supposed to, cuts it to …

An explosion. On the terraces, on the field where Leachy runs into Ben’s outstretched arms, in the changing room next door, where, by the sounds of it, several things have been knocked over at the same time. Headingley has turned from a cauldron into a volcano. A volcanic eruption. It is so loud Jimmy can’t hear his own thoughts. Can’t …

A pair of arms throw themselves around his midsection, squeeze him so tight he has to gasp for a second.

“I don’t fucking believe it!” Stuart is in tears.

Jimmy returns the embrace every bit as fiercely. Completely forgets about his calf, about the annoying injury that has been his companion ever since the beginning of July.

“That was a fucking miracle.” he whispers and presses a kiss to Stuart’s cheek. “Come on. Just … the lads.” “I know.” Arms around each other, they practically fall into the tiny home changing room.

“Jim! Broady!” Jonny, jumping up and down, yells, pulls them into something that Jimmy only now sees is a giant group hug. Involving everyone, even their always so stoic head coach Trevor.

“I fucking love Stokesy!” Rory, shaking from head to toe, shouts and hugs Jimmy.

“Join the queue!” Chris high-fives him. “And… Joey.”

It is only now the pile of excited shouts and limbs notices their captain.

Joe has sunk to the ground, sobs violently. “I … I don’t … I thought we …”

Jos sprints across to him, sits down, throws his arms around his boyfriend. “Shh.” he whispers while tears run down his face as well. “Shh. It’s okay. We made it! We bloody made it!”

Joe buries his face in Jos’ neck. And the sight of him, of his sheer relief, of the tension forcing its way out after a rollercoaster of a day, is enough to set everyone off. Even Jason, who, so far, has managed to stay calm.

“Joey come here.” Jimmy says gently and pulls Joe to his feet. “It was a good call at the toss, okay? It was.” “It really was. I never would have got my six-fer. Perfect bowling conditions.” Jof smiles and places a hand on Joe’s shoulder.

“Lads..” Joe can’t speak.

Jimmy hugs him. “Okay. Really Joey. It’s okay. I … let’s go get those two fucking heroes.”

“Oh I’m gonna kill Leachy.” Joe laughs between his tears. “What the fuck did he set off on that run for?” “Beats me. Wasn’t listening in training, apparently,” Graham, their batting coach, adds with a stern face and wags his finger.

Everyone laughs.

As they make their way down to the pitch, to the roar of the Headingley terraces (are there really people waving their shoes in the air? And has someone really started “Shoes off if you love Ben Stokes?” And for that, did Jimmy really just see Rory and Jonny take off a shoe as well and join in? It all feels too surreal to be true), Jimmy suddenly has another idea.

_Etiquette or not. He bloody needs to be with us today. So. So they’re gonna find out at the same time. Who cares. Who really cares …_

“Bowled, Pat.” he adds in a disappointed Pat Cummins’ direction, recognising the look on the Australian strike bowler’s face from his own experience. _I know he won’t care. But he really played well. And I know the feeling._

There is just a hint of a smile on Pat’s face as he acknowledges Jimmy with a nod.

And there they are, the heroes of the day, Ben still looking as if he doesn’t believe where he is right now. As if he still has no idea what he has actually done. How he has done the same thing … twice. In six weeks. And…

Jack is in tears as well while everyone, Jos first and foremost, hugs him like he has never been hugged before. “I don’t know how or why or even when, so don’t ask.” he says in Jimmy’s direction.

“You just stuck around. Like a proper tailender.” Jimmy smiles and hugs Jack.

Presentations and interviews done (Jimmy trying his best to avoid Aggers who keeps looking across at him very suspiciously – _Ali what have you done? Did you tell him?_), Jimmy wants nothing more than to get back indoors. To see _him _again, in his gorgeous slim-fit grey shirt and jeans. To hug him, kiss him, squeeze the living daylights out of him and …

While they file back into the pavilion to the chants of a triumphant and incredulous Barmy Army (more than a few of whom are also in tears), Joe announces that there will be “pizza and a few beers, Trev already said yes, yes that includes you Jimmy, don’t look at me like that, if we can’t celebrate tonight, when can we!”.

“Best fucking captain we ever had … a certain knight excepted.” Ben grins and hugs Joe. “Who’s gonna order for everyone?”

Jimmy grins. Has to grin. _What a perfect opportunity. _

“I’ll do it. Anyone having anything out of the ordinary?” he says to general cheers.

“Seafood please.” Jof replies and leads everyone into the changing room.

Jimmy stops at the door to tear the leaflet of their (and apparently Yorkshire CCC’s) favourite Italian restaurant in Leeds off the noticeboard on the wall. “Fine, I’ll go make the phone call. I … don’t fucking toss my phone around, it was brand new!” he admonishes Stuart with a grin.

And hurries around the corner. Places the call (feels his stomach grumble at the thought). _Now where…_

“What the fuck was that.”

Jimmy turns around.

To see the most handsome beaming smile he knows looking at him from the stairwell.

Ali’s eyes are shining. “I … what the fuck was that. That definitely wasn’t part of the plan.”

“You go tell that to our captain.” Jimmy laughs and wraps his arms around Ali. Doesn’t care that anyone could see them right now. Has to kiss him. In the middle of the hallway between both changing rooms. And …

“Your leg just vibrated.” Ali giggles as they break apart, arms still around each other.

“Don’t worry, that was just Greg. I’ll tell him we’re gonna join them in three hours.” Jimmy smiles and places a peck on Ali’s nose. Quickly texts his friend back.

“And now … there’s a team waiting for you. If you want that.” Jimmy takes Ali’s hand. Smiles again as Ali gives his hand a squeeze.

“Of course I do. It’s about time.”

Hand in hand, Jimmy and Ali go to the door of the home changing room. Jimmy knocks.

“Is that our pizza? Or is that the only Aussie we want to see in here right now?” Jonny asks with a laugh. “Neither! Pizza’s coming in half an hour but … there’s someone here for our captain.” Jimmy smiles and reaches up to brush a tear from Ali’s cheek.

Scrambled footsteps. Something clatters to the floor with an earth-shattering noise.

The door flies open.

“I … WHAT.”

In an instant, the entire changing room falls silent. Surprised faces turn towards Ali and Jimmy. “WHAT.” Joe says again in a shaking voice. Looks down at Jimmy’s hand, still clasping Ali’s. “Since when.”

“A month and 20 days.” Jimmy replies with a beaming smile.

“And you never told me?” Joe pouts.

“Or me?” Stuart joins in. “All this time and you didn’t even once think you should tell me that you finally…”

“Ohhhhhkay.” Jack laughs. “That’s a bit much at once.”

“We can tell you the whole if you want.” Jimmy says happily.

“Please do.” Denners and Rory, leaning against the wall with their bare feet stretched out on the floor, reply simultaneously with matching grins.

“Fair enough. And sorry, Broady. You had bigger things to worry about than us.” Jimmy smiles, leading Ali into the changing room.

Ali swallows. Looks at his lads. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” he asks in a shaking voice. “I … I’ve never been so proud of any of you before. Not just you, Ben. It …”

“Erm?” Jason asks shyly. “They’re showing the last hour on TV right now. If anyone…

“Of course.” Ben grins. “Let’s watch. And … be quiet.”

Jimmy, still holding hands with Ali, settles on the bench to his right.

Joe, after asking permission with a shy grin, leans against Ali’s shoulder.

Lets the tears flow, feels the last tension leave his body.

Ali strokes his cheek. “Well done.” he whispers.

“You actually cleaned your glasses?” Jimmy asks Jack, laughing.

“What else. I’d never live this down if I got out… because I couldn’t see.”

Jos bursts out laughing. “Never change, Leachy.”

Ali leans across and kisses Jimmy’s cheek.

“Best day ever?” he whispers.

“Best day ever.”


End file.
